The Night of the Kiss of Death
by The Wild Wild Whovian
Summary: The daughters of the ambassador from Pterovnia have disappeared, and their godfather the king is ready to send in troops to rescue them. President Grant's two best Secret Service agents must work fast to avert an international incident.
1. Teaser

_**Author's Notes:** The photograph referred to in the teaser (first chapter) is also the book cover. A larger version is available at my Photobucket account; I've placed a link to the picture on my profile page._

_Also, __where I used foreign languages, I tried to also provide the translation within the context of the story. However, since one of the language in this story is one I completely made up, I've posted the vocabulary for that language on my profile page as well._

**The Night of the Kiss of Death**

**Teaser ~~~~**

The big man with the impressive beard chewed on his cigar as his final two visitors were ushered in. "Ah, West, Gordon," he said. "Come in, gentlemen, come in."

"Good afternoon, Mr President."

"Now, gentlemen," said President Grant, turning to his other visitor, "I'd like you to meet Count Ljudko Mechtenko, personal secretary to the Ambassador from the Kingdom of Pterovnia. Count Mechtenko, Mr James West…"

"How do you do?"

"…and Mr Artemus Gordon."

Gordon too shook the Count's hand, but his words caught Mechtenko by surprise. Eyebrows arching, the Count exclaimed, "Why, Mr Gordon! You speak Pterovnian?"

Gordon smiled modestly. "Oh, just enough to get by."

"Now, gentlemen," said the President. "Oh, do be seated. Gentlemen, I'm afraid that our meeting here today concerns a most distressing matter. Count?"

"Mr West, Mr Gordon, I am here because Ambassador Zelnurmofko received telegraphic communication today stating that his two daughters have been kidnapped."

West and Gordon exchanged glances. "Kidnapped," West repeated. "There's been a ransom demand then?"

"Strangely, no," replied the Count.

"And the circumstances?" asked Gordon.

The Count opened a file and began to spread out papers across the table in front of the two agents. A map, the telegram, a photograph…

West picked up the photograph, studied it briefly, then passed it on to Gordon. "These are the daughters, I take it?"

"Ah, yes," said the Count. "Irenje, seated, and Anushche, standing."

"Peace and Grace," said Gordon. "Lovely names for lovely ladies."

"Mr Gordon, you continue to astound me! You are a linguist, yes?"

"Merely an amateur," Gordon replied. "When was this taken?"

"Last month. For their birthday."

"And they are how old? If I am permitted to ask?"

"Nineteen."

"But Irenje is the elder," said West. "They are identical twins?"

"And now you astound me, Mr West. How do you know _Zernkje_ Irenje - that is to say, Lady Irenje - is the elder?"

West tapped the photograph. "Her eyes. Her face. Her whole bearing. Irenje is used to commanding, and being instantly obeyed. Anushche, on the other hand…" He glanced at the photo again. "…is the wide-eyed ingénue. And she worships the ground her sister walks on."

The Count shook his head, amazed. "One would think you know the family personally," he said. "But as for your question - yes, they are identical twins. With the exception that _Zernkje_ Irenje has a small birthmark there." He pointed. "Just below the right ear." He gazed at the photo for a moment, adding, "They are the Ambassador's only children. _Zernkje_ Zelnurmofje - their mother - is most disconsolate."

The men nodded. Turning to the map, West added, "And they were in Georgia?"

"Yes. Having been educated in some of the finest ladies' colleges in Europe, the young ladies had recently embarked on a tour of the United States…"

"By visiting the Deep South?" asked Gordon. "The South is still not exactly, ah, at its best…"

The Count shrugged. "They were on their way to New Orleans. They had stopped for a few days at Atlanta, traveled on only as far as the next stop at this small town here - and there, for some reason, they disembarked."

"And vanished?" said West.

As the Count nodded in reply, Gordon glanced over the telegram before tossing it back onto the table. "That's less than informational," he complained. "Who sent it?"

"Their tutor, _M le docteur_ Étienne Rodin."

"He is also their interpreter?"

"Oh, no. The young ladies are fluent, or at least conversant, in all the major languages of Europe - in addition, of course, to their mother tongue of Pterovnian. Though perhaps," he added, "not completely familiar with certain American variations on English…"

West nodded. "Independence will do that," he said dryly.

"Well, gentlemen," said the Count, "there is not much more that I can add - except that it is imperative that the Ambassador's daughters be returned to the arms of their parents at once."

"Of course, sir."

"Thank you, Count Mechtenko," the President said. And with a bow to all present, the Count withdrew.

"Gentlemen," said the President, "I want you down there right away. Find those young women! Bring them back home to their Embassy. And find the kidnappers and bring them to justice! The Ambassador, I am sorry to have to tell you, has already dispatched transatlantic telegrams informing His Majesty King Zerildko of the incident, and His Majesty is ready to dispatch troops - troops! - to come over here to the United States and take over this investigation to find his god-daughters." He paused to control his ire. "Now, I have personally assured His Majesty that my best men are on the job, and he has accordingly agreed to wait one week before the troop ships sail. I'm sorry that's not much time, but…" He spread his hands.

"Yes," put in Gordon, "it's rather difficult to slap royalty on the wrist and say, 'Ah-ah-ah! Hands off!' "

"Precisely," said Grant. "Now, your contact will be the tutor, who has remained on site. I don't know how much help he will be; you both saw the telegram. But he is apparently the only witness we have to the young ladies' disappearance."

"We'll do our best, sir," said West as Gordon gathered up the file of information the Count had left for them.

"I'm counting on that, Jim," said the President. "I'm counting on it. Because we certainly don't need this to escalate into some sort of international incident."

**Music **


	2. Act 1

"**The Night of the Kiss of Death"**

******A Wild Wild West Fanfic  
**

**By Niecie Sparrow  
**

**Act 1 ~~~~**

"Welcome back to the red clay of Georgia," Artemus Gordon commented as he glanced out the window of the varnish car. The Wanderer had chugged straight through Atlanta and was now pulling up on a sidetrack in the little speck-on-the-map town the Count had indicated. West and Gordon disembarked, then crossed a few tracks to enter the depot where they immediately sought out the station master for a few quiet words. Glancing around the waiting room, the station master pointed to the far corner where sat a fussy little man wearing fine dapper clothing and a pair of pince-nez glasses.

Thanking the station master, the two agents headed off to meet the man.

"I certainly hope he'll be more help in person than he was in his telegram, Artie."

"Doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands, does he, Jim?"

For the little man was constantly taking off his glasses, polishing them, then putting them back on to peer anxiously about at anyone who wandered near him. But when he saw West and Gordon coming purposefully toward him, he sprang up from his seat and rushed forward.

"Doctor Rodin?"

"Ah, _mais bien sûr, c'est moi!_" cried the little man. "And you, _messieurs_, you are _les agents des États Unis?_"

Once the introductions were made, the little tutor grasped at their hands the way a drowning man would grasp at a rope. "Ah, _messieurs!_ I am so very glad to see you! _Asseyez-vous, s'il vous plaît_ - please, sit down." Polishing his glasses once again, he added darkly. "And _peut-être maintenant_ - perhaps now, that is, someone at last will listen to me…"

West and Gordon exchanged glances. "Listen to you, Doctor?" Jim prompted.

The tutor continued polished his glasses vigorously as he said, "The constabulary here, _messieurs_, are singularly inefficient, _bien sûr!_ _Ce qu'ils sont fous!_ Mule-headed they are! Sitting upon their…" With a pause and a frown, he gave noticeable thought to choosing just the right word. "…chairs!" At which point he went off into a rapid-fire rant in French, gesticulating so violently with his pince-nez that Artie reached out and grabbed his hands. "Careful, _M le docteur!_ You will break them! _Et, s'il vous plaît, parlez en anglais_."

"Ah, _pardonnez-moi, mes amis, je regret_ - I am sorry; I should, I know, speak the English for you. It is only, _vous comprenez_, you understand, that I am so very worried. The more worried I am, _le plus français je suis. N'est-ce pas?_"

"_Mais oui,_ of course," Artie agreed. "It is easiest to worry in one's native tongue."

"Ah, _oui, précisement!_" exclaimed Dr Rodin.

"Now," said Jim, "to get back to what you were saying - and what were you saying? I didn't quite catch that."

"Ah," said the tutor. "That is to say, euh…" Embarrassed now, he glanced at Mr Gordon.

Artie smiled. "It's all right, Jim. It doesn't really bear repeating. Merely an eloquent dissertation, shall we say, on the pig-headedness of those who make up their minds before hearing all the facts."

"Ah," said Jim. "A little matter of 'Pardon your French'?"

Dr Rodin blushed.

"So what have the local constabulary done?"

"_Rien du tout!_ Nothing at all! They have inquired, _c'est vrai_ - it is true - and they tell me that there are no dead bodies found, and _les médecins_ - _parbleu!_ there is no hospital in this town! - the medical doctors do not report any patients they do not know. _C'est incroyable!_ And the sheriff! Do you know what he tells me? He tells me…" And here the Frenchman switched to a quite passable Southern accent. "…He says: Don't you worry none, Doc. Them girls, they're smart girls. They jes' made arrangements to meet up with their sweethearts is all, an' they done run off an' give you the slip. You jes' wait, they'll be showin' back up agin once their money runs out, yep." Frowning, Dr Rodin leaned forward, taking off his pince-nez and jabbing with them first at West, then at Gordon. "_Mais ce n'est pas possible!_ It is not possible! _Les jeunes dames_ did not to me give any slip to run off with sweethearts!"

"You're certain of this? These are nineteen-year-old young ladies we're talking about…"

"_Absolument!_ _Bien sûr_, I am certain! They have not run off with sweethearts, because there are… no… sweethearts." He emphasized each of the final three words of that sentence with a thrust of his pince-nez. "_Entendez_." He leaned still further forward. "_Zernkje_ Irenje, she is her father's heir, _vous comprenez?_ Very family-proud, she is. Men who rank below her?" He shook his head. "They are to her as the dirt. And men who rank above her? Ah, to them she will not bow! Already she knows her own mind - and _**I **_know her mind. She is one who will never marry."

"And the other?"

His face wreathed in smiles. "Ah, _ma petite_ Anushche! _Ma chérie!_ I call her my _droshche_. In Pterovnian…"

"It means 'Sweetie,' yes," said Artie.

Dr Rodin nodded happily. "And that she is! All sweetness, _quelle mignon, quelle naïve!_ Anushche tells to me everything. Everything! She calls me," he turned to Gordon, "her '_djenko_.' You know this word?"

Jim turned to Artie as well; Artie was smiling, nodding. "Then you are a dear friend of the family," he said to the tutor.

"_Oui, mon ami_."

To Jim Artie explained, "The Pterovnian language often manages to pack a lot of meaning into a single word. In the case of the word '_dienko_,' it means a dear family friend of an older generation, someone whom the speaker would never betray. It, uh, has a long story behind it, far longer than you'd want to hear right now." And to Dr Rodin Artie added, "Then I suppose you call her '_katjenje_'?"

"_Mais oui!_"

"Is that another term with a three-minute definition?" asked Jim.

"No, not unless you want to delve into Pterovnian history. That word means 'almost-daughter.' "

Almost-daughter. Jim decided to let that one pass.

"But as I was saying," Rodin continued, "Anushche, she is curious about men, _vraiment_, for she is a young woman. But she is…" He paused, grasping for the word he wanted. "It is not that she is afraid of men, _mais non_. Wary?" He brushed that word away as well. "Ah! Cautious! She is cautious about men! She says to me, 'Ah, _djenko mujo_, how will I know? How will I tell who is genuine with me, who is honest? Who is not' - how do you _américains_ put it? Ah, a gold-digger!

"And so," he concluded, "this sheriff, he is wrong, wrong, wrong! They have not run off with sweethearts, because sweethearts they do not have!"

"Pity," commented Artie. "If only there were sweethearts, this would all be much simpler."

"And it would explain the lack of a ransom note," added Jim. Turning back to the tutor, he said, "All right, Dr Rodin, now that we've established that there are no sweethearts - just what **did** happen?"

Dr Rodin smiled and leaned back in his seat, looking like years of tension had just been lifted off him. "_En fin!_ At last! Someone who asks the right question!" Polishing his glasses once more, he said, "We arrived in Atlanta. _Et les jeunes dames_, they make the shopping, they regard the sights. _Ainsi en le matin_ - _excusez-moi_, then in the morning of the day they disappeared, we gather everything and mount the train and off we go. _Vous voyez?_" He shook his finger. "Ah, but not quite everything is gathered, _messieurs_. For [i]_Zernkje_ Irenje, she has forgotten… something. Something unimportant… inconsequential. Not something special or unique. _Vous comprenez?_ What that something was, I do not now even remember! I tell her, '_Quel problème?_ When we arrive in New Orleans, you shall purchase another. _Ce n'est pas important_.' _Mais non!_ This one she must have and no other! And so it is imperative for us to get off at the next stop - here. _Avec tous les bagages, tous les cases_. And I inquire with _le maître du dépôt_ - 'Tickets back to Atlanta?' _Et le maître du dépôt me dit que le prochain train sera en deux heures. Deux heures!_"

"_En anglais_?" Artie prompted gently.

"Ah, _je vous prie pardon!_" Rodin paused, trying to think how far back he had switched over. "Euh…"

"You arrived and disembarked with all your luggage, then asked the station master for the next train back, and you were told it would be in two hours. Then…?"

"Ah, _merci beaucoup_, _M_ Gordon! Ah, we, ah… _Tiens!_ We waited!" And he adopted a pose of exaggerated loitering, one elbow planted firmly on a knee for that hand to prop up his chin, the other hand drumming on the bench beside him. "_Mais alors_ - but then, _droshche muje_ Anushche, she spies…" and he pointed first at his eye, then out the door, "a peddler woman."

"Where?"

"Just there, across the street. Not **now**, she is not there now. But **then**! There she was, _avec des fleurs et les bonbons_ - ah, selling flowers and candies, that is. And, and some sort of local fruit - or nut _peut-être?_ The Pea-can?"

Waving a hand, the tutor went on, "_Mais ce n'est pas important_. Anushche, she rushes out in delight to buy, oh, something. _Zernkje_ Irenje, she follows, going to stand behind her sister to complain to her in Pterovnian how dirty the peddler woman is, how smelly, calling her a _tuvnjeche_ - which is the lowest class of peasant. And I too am standing there, _bien sûr_, watching over _mes jeunes dames_.

"_Et maintenant le maître du dépôt_ calls to me, telling me that we cannot abandon _les bagages en le dépôt_. _Je lui assure_ - ah, _pardonnez-moi_ - I assure him that we are not abandoning our baggage; we are merely buying _quelque chose de la_… euh… buying something from the peddler woman across the street. I commence to return to _les jeunes dames, mais le maître du dépôt_ calls to me _encore_ to demand - demand! - that I must put _les bagages_ into the storage, for which I must pay money. _Pourquoi donc?_ Why thus? We are not going anywhere, not here! Merely are we awaiting _le prochain train!_" Eyes smoldering, Rodin added, "_Bien sûr_, **now** the money is paid and _les bagages_ are in the storage. For when the argument _avec le maître du dépôt_ is terminated, I go to the door to speak to _mes jeunes dames_ - and they are gone. _Zernkje_ Irenje, _katjenje_ Anushche, the peddler woman - all gone. To where, I do not know."

West and Gordon were already on their feet. "Show us."

* * *

Dr Rodin led them across the street. The local hotel stood there, curious mythological creatures painted on the sign board and across the façade. Up and down the street stood other typical small-town businesses: general store, stable, sheriff's office, newspaper office. And adjacent to the hotel was a vacant lot surrounded by a tall board fence. Not much in the way of traffic was passing, but it had been enough in the meantime to have scuffed and obliterated any signs that the two young ladies had ever stood here in the street.

"And here I stop," said the tutor glumly, gesturing at the hotel, "awaiting the hour when _mes jeunes dames_ 'run out of money.' "

"Thank you very much, Dr Rodin," said West. "You've been a great help."

"_Merci beaucoup_," added Gordon. "And you've certainly cleared up the mystery of how the young ladies came to disappear from **here**."

Taking their leave of the little tutor at the hotel steps, the two agents now took in the surroundings once more. "Hmm," said James. "If I were a kidnapper and had just snatched a pair of young women from right in front of the hotel in broad daylight - what would be my next move?"

"Gotta get 'em out of sight, fast, before someone sees what's happening and raises the alarm…" Artie responded. "Ah!"

As one, the men strode to the board fence at the adjacent vacant lot and began checking each board, pushing at the tops, rattling the middles, certain they would quickly find…

"…a loose board," said Jim, swiveling it out on its nail like a hinge. "After you, Artie."

"Why, thank you, James my boy."

"_Tiens!_ You have something, _mes amis?_"

"_Mais oui, M le docteur_," said Artie, not yet passing through the opening but hunkering down to look through it instead. "Yes, we have found something. And something else as well. Isn't that interesting, Jim?" he said, pointing at the ground only a foot or so inside the fence.

"A wilted flower," said Jim.

"And that's not the only one. There's about half a dozen of them at irregular intervals, leading all the way across the lot." Artie leaned to one side, making room for Jim to get a better view through the opening. "What about the tracks, Jim? What are they telling you?"

Jim's keen eyes took in all the nuances of the dust just inside the fence. "Two men. Two women in high heels. One… person… in house slippers."

"House… house slippers?" said the tutor. "_Mais c'est incroyable!_ How do you know what you have just said? All I see is the dirt."

Patiently Jim pointed at various marks near the flower. "See the small hole there, with the narrow wedge a couple of inches in front of it? That's the print of a woman's high heeled shoe. And there, the thick capital-D shape with the long wide wedge in front of it. That's the print of a man's shoe. While the big flat shuffly mark with no heel break - that's the house slipper."

"_Mais… mais… Je me souviens!_ I remember now! The peddler woman, she was wearing indeed the house slippers!" He was nearly dancing with glee. "It is they! It is they! _Mes jeunes dames!_ You have found them! _Allons-y!_" And he tried to push his way through the opening in the fence.

"Oh no you don't!" cried Artie, spreading his arms wide to block the opening. And Jim did even better; he pushed the loose board back into its place, then leaned against it, arms folded, immovable. Fixing Dr Rodin with a cool gaze, he said, "What do you think you're doing?"

Baffled, the Frenchman stared at the two _américains_. "_Mais… mes jeunes dames_," he sputtered. "You have found them. _Allons-y!_"

Coming to his feet, Gordon pointed at himself and his partner. "**We** are going," he said. Then, pointing at the tutor, "You, _M le docteur_, are **not** going. **You**," and he pointed beyond him, "are going to wait at the hotel."

"_Mais… mais… mes jeunes dames_… You have found them..."

"You keep saying that. Listen. We have **not** found _les jeunes dames_ yet. What we have found is a trail that looks promising. However! It could also be a false trail. It could even be - consider this now! - a trail that leads whoever follows it into a trap. Perhaps even a death trap," Gordon enunciated slowly. "Now my partner and I are trained Federal agents. It's our job to face danger. Your job, _mon cher_ Rodin…" He looked the man over and shook his head. "Your job is to take very nice young ladies out on shopping trips and to the opera, and to teach them to appreciate Molière. What Jim and I are doing, this is not for you. This is dangerous, _M le docteur_. You just go on back to the hotel right now and wait for us to let you know what we find."

"Well if it's that dangerous, Artie, now I don't even want to go," quipped West.

Artie shot his partner a look.

Dr Rodin folded his arms. "Dangerous, you say, _M_ Gordon? _Mais mes jeunes dames_, they are there in the danger, and shall I play the coward and hang back from the danger they face? _Mais non!_" He lifted his chin heroically.

A moment later a thought hit him and he added, "Besides - they hate Molière."

Now Artie shot the tutor a look. "And that makes a difference **why**?"

"Here's the final word, Dr Rodin," said West evenly. "You're not going."

"I shall not be left behind!"

"I'm not going to argue with you, Doctor," said Jim. "I've made my decision and that's all." He turned away.

"You may have made your decision, _M_ West, _votre dernier mot_. But I tell you this: As soon as you _et_ _M_ Gordon go through that broken fence, I shall follow. And I shall continue to follow and follow until _Zernkje_ Irenje and _katjenje_ Anushche are safely returned to me, that I may safely return them to their parents. And there is nothing you may do that will stop me!"

Artie rubbed at the back of his neck and glanced at his partner. "Well, he's got a point there, James my boy. Shall we lock him up in his hotel room, handcuffed to the bed?"

"Sounds like an excellent idea to me, Artie. You got some handcuffs?"

"Right here, James!" And Mr Gordon instantly produced a pair of metal shackles.

Dr Rodin's eyes bulged at the sight of them. "Ah! Euh! _Non… non… mais non_. That is to say, euh… I… I will, ah, go up to my room _à l'hôtel_ and, and will wait there, _mes amis_. I will not follow. _D'accord?_"

"Agreed," said Artie. To which Jim added, "We have your word then, Dr Rodin? You won't follow us, and you will wait in your room?"

"Ah… _oui. Oui_."

Jim nodded. "Good day then, Doctor," he said and shook the tutor's hand in farewell. Artie also shook the man's hand, adding, "_Bonjour, M le docteur. A bientôt_." And as they watched the tutor disappear into the hotel, Artie murmured, "What do you think, Jim? Can we trust him do keep his word?"

"Trust him?" Jim replied. "Maybe about as far as we can throw him."

"Mmm. Yep, that's what I was thinking too." Then, turning back to the fence, Artie held the board open and said, "After you, James."

Shortly the two men were through the opening and Artie carefully swung the board back into its place, endeavoring to make that loose board look as solidly placed as all the rest. Satisfied, he turned to see James, squatting to the side of the trail a foot or so from the next flower, intently surveying the ground.

Artie joined him. "How's it look to you, Jim? Still just the five sets of prints?"

"Yeah, Artie. If there are more in the gang than the three who grabbed the girls, they haven't shown up yet."

Gradually they crossed the vacant lot, continuing to study the tracks. "Well," said Artie as they approached the final flower, "it's still five sets of footprints, no more."

"Yeah," said Jim. Gesturing toward the far fence, he added, "Another loose board, you think?"

"Oh, most likely." Glancing back at the line of flowers behind them, Artie muttered to Jim, "You know what's bothering me?"

Jim gave a small nod. "The flowers."

"Exactly. Either they're a false trail, luring us on, or else that was one blind set of kidnappers. How could they not spot such a large and showy gesture as these flowers being dropped, one by one, like breadcrumbs?" He shook his head. "I just hope whichever girl was dropping these - and my money's on Anushche, since she was the more likely to have bought the flowers - Jim, I just hope she's all right."

Again Jim nodded.

And now they were at the far fence. They checked the tracks - again no changes. West and Gordon set about pushing the boards of the fence and shortly found, as expected, that one board was loose. Artie took hold of it, slowly and cautiously pressing it outward…

And froze. His throat constricted. "Jim!" he hissed, his voice sounding strangled.

"What is it, Artie?"

Artemus nodded toward the gap he had made in the fence. "Look."

Both looked. Just outside the fence, lying on the ground, was a whole armful of wilting flowers, kicked and trampled and covered with dust.

"They caught her," Artie breathed.

Jim slipped on through the opening, finding himself in an alleyway. No one was around. No one at all. There was nothing here except the flowers and more footprints.

And that was a relief. West had been nearly certain he would find what was left of the young woman who had been dropping the flowers. But there wasn't a body, nor any signs that there had been a body. And so, as Artie came through the opening as well and replaced the loose board, Jim began to read the trail.

It ran off to the right. He followed it for a few yards, frowned, then went back to the beginning and checked it again. Hmm. Gesturing toward the ground, Jim said, "Hey, Artie, what do you make of this?"

Finishing up with the loose board, Artie joined his partner. "Why, what've you got, Jim?"

"Curious set of tracks. And an unusual tale they're telling."

Hmm? Artie took a look at the tracks for himself, following them a few paces to a point where something had obliterated a couple of square feet of the trail, leaving it looking almost swept. What…?

"Her skirt," said Artie. "She was on the ground here. They knocked her down? Punishment for leaving a trail?"

"Just wait," Jim replied. Moving on a few feet, he said, "Now here."

"Well, she was on her feet again and… Jim, she was limping."

"Yeah. Limping. But now look here."

Artie looked. Frowned. Looked again. And then, just as Jim had done, he went back to the pile of flowers and came forward again slowly, checking, thinking.

"Jim, she got up here and she was limping on her right foot. But then a few steps further on, she's limping on her left foot. Then back to the right foot again here. It's like she couldn't decide which side was hurt…" He broke off and shot Jim a look. "She faked it. She faked the injury."

"Mm-hmm," said Jim.

"Then she might well have faked the fall in the first place," Artie added. Moving briskly on up the trail, he said, "Ah! You see? Look here. She wound up on the ground again. Probably was making a big show of how much her ankle hurt, slowing then down, and… and… Wait a minute." He tilted his head to the side, tilted even more, then carefully stepped over the tracks to get a better angle on what he was seeing. "Jim, look. This is writing!"

Instantly both agents hunkered down to inspect the marks drawn by finger in the dust. "That's why she faked the injury. To give herself an excuse to sit down so she could write a message. Clever girl!"

"But what did she write, Artie? I can't read this."

"Hmm? Oh, it's in Pterovnian. It says, 'Help us.' "

"Pterovnian. She wrote in Pterovnian? Why would she do that?"

"Hmm." Artie's eyes narrowed. "Maybe she used her native language thinking her captors would be less likely to recognize it as writing and scuff it out. And she was probably expecting that the first person to come looking for them would be Dr Rodin; he already told us that he speaks Pterovnian."

"Could be," said Jim. They moved on.

"All right, Artie, what do you make of this?"

Artie took a close look at what Jim was examining. Once again the girl had managed to sit on the ground and make marks in the dust with her finger. But this time it wasn't words.

"Some kind of bird," said James.

"You're right," Artie agreed. "But what is it? A flamingo?"

"Beak's all wrong."

"True. This one's is longer and thinner than that. Looks more like, oh, a stork, perhaps?" And then the lights went on in Artie's brain and he began to chuckle.

"All right, Artie. What is it?"

Grinning, Artie clapped his partner on the shoulder and responded, "The common European house stork, James my boy. Famous for making its nest on top of chimneys. Known in Pterovnia as the '_zelnurmof_.' Ever heard that word before?"

Jim nodded. "Yes. Zelnurmof, as in Ambassador Zelnurmofko. That's the girls' family name."

"Mm-hmm! She just told us precisely who they are."

"The beak points in the direction they were going. I wonder did she realize that their very footsteps were already telling us that."

"Who knows. I said it before, James, she's a clever girl. However…"

"Yeah, Artie?"

He shook his head. "Anushche - and we're still assuming our little artistic actress is Anushche and not Irenje - she kept her head and has done what she could to help us find them. The kidnappers on the other hand are not exactly the brightest bunch I've ever seen, you know?"

"True. You would have thought that, once they realized the girl was making a trail of flowers, they would have removed the flowers and destroyed the trail."

"Right. Or backtracked. Laid a false trail. Something! But you know what? I'll bet you six bits when we get up to the corner there, we won't find any attempt to throw us off there either. They'll have just gone right along their merry way taking the girls straight to wherever they were going, as if the kidnappers didn't have a care in the world." Shaking his head, he concluded, "No, James, I don't think we're dealing with the brains of the operation here."

"Could be, Artie. Or it could be that the whole thing has been a false trail right from the start and we know nothing."

Silence. Then Artie rubbed at the back of his neck and said, "Ah. Right. I, uh, mentioned that before myself, didn't I?"

"Well, Artie," said Jim, "they do say the memory's the first thing to go. Still," he added, "I think it's more likely that you're right. These guys are a bunch of rank amateurs and don't have a clue what they're doing."

"Nor, apparently, what Anushche was doing."

"Let's hope it stayed that way. Come on."

When they reached the corner, they found that Artie would indeed have won his proposed bet if only Jim had taken it. The trail went off to the left here; a block further on, to the right. There had been little other traffic through these alleys to confuse things, and of course every few yards Anushche had sat down and drawn another stork.

At length they came to a door in the middle of the latest alley and here the trail ended. Five people had milled about outside this door, then passed in through it.

"Wonder what this place is."

"Be right back," said Artie. He sauntered off for a casual stroll around the block, returning in a few minutes to report, "No business sign. Most likely a private home. It takes up the entire block. Oh, and all the curtains are drawn."

"Someone doesn't like prying eyes," observed James. He laid his hand on the doorknob and gave it a gentle turn.

"Locked, huh?"

"Oh yeah." Flipping over his lapel, Jim pulled out the lock pick he kept there and bent to the task of letting them in. Artie immediately glanced about, watching out for any possible witnesses.

Jim sprang the lock easily, and as he was putting away the little pick, asked, "What do you make of that, Artie?"

"What'd you find?" Artemus took a closer look. There, at the base of the wall, directly on the door frame itself… "Oh! Now it's a pencil sketch of a stork. Hmm. I suppose she realized that, once she was inside a building, she wasn't likely to find enough dust to draw in anymore?"

"Possibly." West turned the knob carefully, slowly, then eased the door open and peered inside. The door opened into the middle of a long corridor stretching off to the right and left. At either end were corners where the hallway turned and plunged deeper into the building. There were a few doors opposite. And no one in sight.

Artie tapped Jim's arm and pointed. Off to the left, just at the corner, there was a little mark near the base of the wall. It was too far away to make out what it was, but both men were reasonably sure it was yet another stork.

Artie jerked his thumbs in either direction, looking the question to Jim of: which way? Jim considered, then pointed off to the right. Artie nodded, and hitching his head to the left, mouthing: Then I'll follow the birdies.

Both set out. Artie crept up on the first door, listened at it, tried the knob, glanced inside. No one there, and nothing in it of particular interest; it might have been a storage room. He closed the door and continued on checking his side of the building.

As he was checking the second room, Artie thought he heard voices out in the hall and pressed himself against the door frame inside the room, listening. Waiting…

Shortly he heard the sound of a door closing and the voices ceased. Cautiously he came out, looked around, saw only Jim up the hall, and moved on.

Soon he reached the corner. So far he had found no one, and no one had found him. Listening intently - no sounds - he risked a glance round the corner. Still no one. The corridor stretched on for several yards before him, with a half-dozen doors evenly spaced along the wall to his right.

Artie continued on, checking each door in turn and finding nothing, until he reached the final door. Hmm… well, wasn't that interesting? There, near the base of the wall, right on the frame of that final door, there was another stork. But this one was a bit different from the previous ones. All the others had been drawn in the classic one-leg-crooked pose of a standing stork. This one instead had no legs, only a messy scribble just below its body.

Or wait… no… not a scribble, a nest! Artie smiled to himself. This stork had come to roost. And its beak was pointing at this final door. Clever girl, he thought once more.

Unless… Well, there was still the possibility of this being a trap. And if so, now would be the time for it to spring.

Artie listened at the door and heard something other than silence within. Hmm… that might be the soft sigh of someone breathing… the squeak of a chair from someone shifting in it… the crisp snap of a sheet of paper as someone turned a page…

He took hold of the doorknob and gently turned it. Of course it was locked.

A gasp sounded from the other side of the door. And then a voice - clear, feminine, young - called out "Who is there? Is somebody there?" Her English was lightly tinged with a British accent, and underlying that, a definite undercurrent that spoke of Eastern Europe, which was the right part of the globe for Pterovnia.

Quietly, and in his best Pterovnian, Artie replied, "I am searching for Irenje and Anushche Zelnurmofje."

Again the gasp. "But that is I! I am Anushche Zelnurmofje. Who are you?"

Judging that his own name would have little meaning for her, he responded, "I have been sent to find you by Count Ljudko Mechtenko and by the President of the United States."

"Oh, my father's private secretary sent you! And… and - oh my! - the President of the United States as well?"

"Yes, Miss Anushche," said Artie, switching over to English. "And I'll have you out of there shortly." Glancing about to be sure there was still nobody around, he produced from one of his many pockets a small device that looked like a perfectly ordinary key. This he fitted into the lock on the door, then snapped the free end of the key off and dodged to the side. A spout of flame came out of the keyhole as the device did its work. A moment later, the door swung inward an inch or so, its latch destroyed. He nudged the door open, stepped through, then pushed it to behind him. "Miss Anushche?"

She looked very much like her photograph: heart-shaped face, deep-brown eyes, chestnut curls framing her face with the rest of her hair swept up into a stylish coif. She was sitting in a chair alongside a lamp stand, its light shining down onto a large book on her lap. The rest of the room around her looked like another storage closet, with shelves upon shelves of curiosa. The only other bit of furniture was a small cot near her chair.

For a moment she merely looked up at the stranger who had just ruined the door of her prison. Then she closed her book and set it gently on the cot beside her, sprang up to her feet with a grin of delight and, clasping her gloved hands together under her chin, she said - she really did! - "My hero!"

Artie had to stuff down a tremendous temptation to burst out laughing when the girl came out with that. But he mastered the impulse and instead swept a very low bow before her, introducing himself as, "Artemus Gordon of the United States Secret Service. At your service, Miss Anushche."

"Oh, that was capital!" she responded. "I have never been rescued before. I have never needed rescuing before." Her eyes were sparkling up at him, full of mischief and fun. And he realized that not only was she the wide-eyed ingénue Jim had noted her to be, as well the possessor of wits sharp enough for her to play lame and mark the trail with storks, but she was in essence still a, well, a kid! Perhaps she was nineteen years old according to the calendar, but in heart she was much younger. More like a fifteen-year-old playing dress-up in fine fashion and high-buttoned shoes, or perhaps a fairy princess smiling at her knight in shining armor.

Frowning, Artie pointed out, "You haven't been rescued yet, Miss Anushche. I've only opened the door. I still need to get you out of the building and safely home to your parents."

"Oh. True. And _sjerche muje_ - my sister! You have of course come to rescue her as well."

"My partner is working on that even now."

"Oh, capital! I have not seen Irenje in, oh! I do not know how long! Not since they locked me up in here. I… I do hope she is all right. Wherever she is in this horrible place."

"You don't know where she is?"

"Alas, no."

He nodded. "We'll just have to hope that Jim finds her then. Now. Are you ready to go?"

"Ah, _dasda!_ Yes, I am ready. Although…" She tilted her head at him, a sparkle in her eyes again. "It is possible that we will need to… to run?"

"Possibly. Why?"

"Oh, capital! I love to run! But you see, it is that my sister and _droshko djenko mujo_ Dr Rodin - my tutor, you know - they are always telling me that I am not ladylike enough. I must be more… more refined, you see. Especially before the gentlemen. They tell me that I act too much like a… a tom girl?"

"Tomboy," he corrected.

"Ah, _dasda!_ Yes, that is the word! And so they tell me that a lady must never run."

Fixing her with a stern glance, Artie said, "A lady certainly does run if, for example, she wants to get out of a burning building. Or in this case, the lair of a bunch of kidnappers."

She clapped her hands and beamed at him. "Oh, I like you, Mr Gordon!"

Bemused, he asked, 'Why, for giving you permission to run?"

"Oh, yes!" Then her face fell. "Oh, no."

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, it is these shoes! They are very fashionable, you see. And I cannot run in them."

"Simplicity itself: take them off."

"Capital!" She sat down in the chair and set about removing them. Artie, with a show of chivalry, turned away. "And you won't be limping?" he added.

A gasp. "Limping! You know of that?"

"Yes, my partner and I could tell from the footprints you left. Most amazing medical phenomenon I've ever seen: first you'd be limping on one foot and then on the other."

"Oh. I, ah, did not do that very well, did I?"

"Your captors didn't catch on, and that's the important thing. Aren't you done with those shoes yet? Do you need some… help." Without thinking, Artie had turned back to face her as he made the offer to help, caught a glimpse of a healthy portion of feminine ankle, thought again of how very young the girl was, and hastily turned away again.

"It is these gloves!" she complained, apparently not noticing his _faux pas_. "I cannot undo the buttons on my shoes while wearing the gloves!"

"Then take the gloves off," he suggested reasonably.

Silence answered him at first, followed by: "Professor Smiler said that I was never to take them off."

Her voice had become so strange - high-pitched, tight, frightened. Keeping his own voice light and even, Artemus asked, "And who is Professor Smiler?"

"He is the man who kidnapped us, or had his people do so. He is the one who put us into the machine of the chairs. After that he made me put on the gloves and told me I must never ever take them off. And then he had me locked up in here." As she spoke, her voice kept rising higher and higher, with a definite raw note of hysteria creeping in.

Pitching his own voice lower than usual to compensate, Artie said, "Miss Anushche…"

"Yes, Mr Gordon?"

"Are your shoes off yet?"

"No, Mr Gordon."

"Then take off your gloves, and take off your shoes."

"But…"

"And then when your shoes are off, put your gloves back on." He waited a minute, then asked, "Are your shoes off now, Miss Anushche?"

"Yes, Mr Gordon."

"And are your gloves back on?"

"Yes, Mr Gordon."

"And is everything fine now?"

A tremendous sigh. "Oh. Oh yes, Mr Gordon!" And her voice was now back to normal.

"Good." He turned to her. "Ready to go now?"

"As soon as I put my shoes away into my handbag, yes. Oh, and my book!" She grabbed up the remarkably thick volume and tucked it under her arm.

"Your book," he repeated. "And just what do you need with a book in a rescue, my dear Miss Anushche?"

"Why, to read it afterwards, of course! Besides," she added with a lift of her chin, "**they** gave me this book. I insisted on something to read, and one of them supplied me with this. I choose to consider this book a bit of recompense for them stealing part of my life!"

"Oh, very well!" said Artie. "And **now** are we ready?"

"Yes, Mr Gordon."

"Good. Now, I'm going to need you to do something for me, Miss Anushche. This is very important. As we're escaping through the building, whatever I many tell you to do, I am going to need you obey me, and to do so instantly. Can you do that for me, Miss Anushche?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Gordon! _Dasda!_" she agreed brightly. Too brightly.

"Ah, Miss Anushche, I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. None of this is a game. If, for example, we should wind up having to run, it won't be because you like to run, or because someone's going to give a prize to the winner; it will be because the bad guys are chasing us, and may well want to kill us. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes, Mr Gordon." She blinked up at him, the complete ingénue.

Artie sighed and closed his eyes. "No, no, I don't think you do. Sweetie… ah, _droshche_…" He took her hand and spoke to her very earnestly, as to a child. "We are dealing with kidnappers, who may very quickly become killers as well. We are in a very dangerous situation here. Now, we're not that far from the outside door, so I hope we'll be able to get through it and away before anyone knows we're on the loose. But if we should be spotted, whatever I tell you to do, you must do it instantly and without question. My partner and I have been doing this sort of work for a long time now, and we're fairly good at what we do. So you can trust me that I know what I'm doing. But believe me, Miss Anushche, this is no game."

"Oh but it **is**, Mr Gordon," she replied just as earnestly. "A most important game. Because the prize is my life, and I want that back! And so I agree to obey you, Mr Gordon, and to trust you with my life." She looked up at him with those wide, girlish eyes . "I know for you this is no game. But for me, it must be. You see…" She glanced away for a moment, and when she looked back, Artie saw now neither the fashionably dressed nineteen-year-old nor the little girl playing dress-up. Instead he saw in her eyes a woman - old, and weary, and fragile. "It is as if, Mr Gordon, I am walking in a very dark place with a very small candle. And as long as I tell myself, 'This is only a game,' the candle stays bright. But if I begin to think how serious all this is, how dark the darkness and how small my candle, ah, then the darkness grows stronger and my candle dimmer. And if the candle goes out, then I will start screaming. Maybe not out loud, but…" She smiled apologetically. "Once I start screaming, I do not think I will ever be able to stop. And then I will have lost, because I will have lost what is inside me that makes me Anushche. And that I am determined not to lose."

Artie was silent a moment, taking all that in, wondering how he had ever taken her for a little girl playing dress-up. And then she smiled up at him again and suddenly she **was** that little girl again. She dimpled at him and said, "I am ready now, Mr Gordon."

"Ah," he said at last. "Let's, uh… let's go then."

* * *

Artie eased open the door and checked; the coast was clear. Drawing his gun, he stepped out, gesturing for her to follow.

He didn't think it was likely anyone had shown up and occupied any of the rooms he had just checked a few minutes earlier, but to be on the safe side, he paused as he drew even with each door to press his ear to it and give a listen. So far, so good, he thought as they reached the corner without incident. Gun in one hand, he spread his free hand toward Miss Anushche, warning her to keep back.

He glanced. Only empty corridor lay ahead. Pointing to the outside door, he mouthed to his companion, "The exit."

She peeked round the corner herself and nodded. With a follow-me gesture, Artie led the way into the final corridor. Only a few yards left to reach the exit now, and only three doors remaining to sneak pass. Artie pressed his ear to the first door, then stole past it. And the second door as well. And now the third…

He heard the click of the latch just as he got solidly in front of the door. Flinging out his free hand to warn Miss Anushche back, he flattened himself against the wall just beyond the door frame.

The door swung inward and a stranger stepped out, turned to his left - and found himself eye-to-chin with Artemus Gordon. The little fellow jerked back slightly, looked up, and came out with a startled, "Huh? Where'd you come from?"

Rarely one to be caught flat-footed like that himself, Artie had already realized that the gun in his hand was currently useless; Miss Anushche had drawn back to the other side of the door and was now directly behind the man in the doorway, and therefore in Artie's line of fire. Artie was also sure that the sight of himself had so captured the stranger's attention that he was unaware of Miss Anushche's presence, and Artie was determined to keep things that way.

Instantly, Artie developed a squint in his right eye and a Hail-fellow-well-met personality. His free hand came forward, clapping the stranger on the shoulder as he called out, "Why, **there** you are, my good man!" The stranger jumped a bit and peered up at Artie's face, confused by the chummy greeting. In that moment, Artie subtly twisted his gun hand and holster leg back, quietly getting the weapon out of sight and put away. Grinning broadly, he then brought his now-empty right hand forward to join his left in grasping the stranger's right hand in an enthusiastic double-handed handshake. "So glad I found you, my dear fellow! Alonso P Farnsworth's the name. Purveyor of the finest in alcoholic refreshments; let me give you my card." Dropping the stranger's hand, he reached inside his jacket, purportedly to bring out his wallet, but actually going after one of his handy-dandy, pride-and-joy little knock-out gas smoke bombs. Unobtrusively Artie caught and held his breath, feeling a bit bad that Miss Anushche, unfortunately, would also be overpowered by the gas. However, she was a slight little thing, barely came up to his chin, and he was sure he would easily be able to carry her out of the building and away.

Still smiling brightly at the stranger, Artie grasped one of the smooth glass orbs; he was ready to throw it…

When suddenly he didn't need to. There came a thud; a moment later the stranger's eyes, which had been captivated by Artie's antics, rolled up into the man's head. As if he had just turned to jelly, the man melted into a puddle at Artie's feet.

Artie took in that sight, then looked up. Miss Anushche was standing opposite him, her hands wrapped firmly around that big book of hers, still holding it at the bottom of her downswing.

Artie blinked, then chuckled. "Why, bless you, my child," he said. "And here I wondered what you would do with a book in a rescue!"

She just stood there for a moment, a bit stunned herself perhaps at what she had just done. Then, with a little laugh, she held the book up so Artie could see its title and proclaimed, "Tolstoy!"

"Ah," Artie responded. "And I'm sure the poor fellow found his introduction to Russian novelists heavy reading indeed."

"Oh, _touché!_" said Anushche approvingly. Tucking the book back under her arm, she pointed at the unconscious man and said, "That is Lou. He is one of the kidnappers."

A sound deep within the room attracted their attention then. Artie and Anushche's heads both snapped up; their eyes met. And then their eyes slid to the side, followed by their heads, turning to look inside the room.

All in one breath, and in Pterovnian, no less, Miss Anushche gasped out, "Oh no and here comes Herk!"

"Who's Herk?"

"The other kidnapper!"

Before he had even finished asking the question, Artie had already snatched his gun out with one hand and snatched Miss Anushche solidly behind his back with the other.

Deep inside the storeroom a behemoth was moving toward them. It took Artie a second to make sense of the misshapen form. But then he sorted it out into an enormous man carrying an enormous bag of some sort slung over his shoulder.

Herk - that just had to be short for Hercules, thought Artie. The man could easily pass for the big brother of Dr Loveless's giant henchman Voltaire - and with emphasis on the word "big." Instantly assessing the situation, Artie glanced at his pistol and said, "Oh no no no; I'd need an elephant gun to bring that down. Miss Anushche?" He holstered his weapon.

"Yes, Mr Gordon?"

"Run!"

Run they did. Artie grabbed the doorknob of the exit as he nearly slid past it and gave the knob a turn. Turned it again. Wait - locked? "I thought Jim left this **un**locked!" he groaned. He patted at his pockets, started to bring out another of his little door-unlocking devices, glanced back toward the store room where Lou still lay in the doorway, and shook his head. Not enough time! Setting a hand firmly on the small of Miss Anushche's back, he propelled her toward the other corner of the corridor, the corner that Jim had set out to explore, and hissed to the girl, "Go go go!"

They ran. A pencil sketch of a stork on the wall just short of the corner registered in Artie's peripheral vision as he barreled around that corner and pulled Miss Anushche to a halt just beyond. It wasn't his favorite plan ever, entering an unknown area without reconnoitering first, but since Herk hadn't yelled yet, raising the alarm, then perhaps they had escaped the big brute's notice. He could hear a rumbling voice echoing from around the corner, saying, "Wha…? Hey, Lou, whazza matter wit' you?" And Artie knew that pursuit would commence shortly.

Taking in this new corridor quickly - it was much like the left-hand corridor where he had found Anushche, but with doors on both sides, a staircase leading upwards, and best of all, no one in evidence - Artie strode to the closest door and tried the knob. It opened. Immediately he whisked Anushche through that door and closed it behind them.

Well, thought Artie, that's how my day's going. Wonder how things are with Jim?

He was about to find out.

* * *

As soon as Artie set off to the left, Jim drew his gun and went to the right, leaving the exit door unlocked for ease in escaping later. Unfortunately, the unlocked door made something else easy as well. As Artemus was disappearing into the second of the rooms on that end of the hall and Jim was about to turn the corner on this end, the knob of the outside door turned, the latch gave a soft click, and a figure slipped into the hall.

West whirled at the sound behind him, automatically aiming his revolver, only to find himself inadvertently threatening…

Yes, the tutor.

West lowered the weapon and frowned at Dr Rodin. Moving quickly to the Frenchman's side and speaking as quietly as possible, Jim hissed at him, "You gave your word that you would not follow us and would wait for us in your hotel room."

"Euh…" Dr Rodin responded, and not at all quietly.

Instantly West clapped his hand over the Frenchman's mouth. "Shh!" he insisted. "Are you going to keep quiet?"

Eyes round, the tutor nodded.

West released him, only to have the man immediately began justifying himself. "_Mais bien sûr_, _M_ West, I did wait _à l'hôtel!_"

"Keep your voice down! For how long: five minutes?"

"Euh… _Peut-être_, ah… ten?"

West was not happy. "And of course you also kept your promise not to follow us."

"_Oui!_ I did not follow. I merely, ah… took a walk, which happened to proceed in the same direction…" A moment later the tutor squeaked, "Euh! _Mais_, _M_ West! _Qu'est-ce que c'est?_ What are you doing?"

For West had holstered his weapon, taken hold of Dr Rodin's elbow and returned him rapidly but quietly to the exit. Opening the door, West thrust the tutor outside, said to him softly, "Go to your room, Doctor," then closed the door after him. The next second there came the quick twist of the lock pick, and Dr Rodin found himself locked out.

Down the hall, Artie finished checking the second room and entered the third, and by the time he exited that room and was preparing to turn that corner, West had already turned this one. Stealthily Jim moved up the new corridor. Hearing voices approaching from his right, though, he quickly slipped through a door to the left and waited for them to pass.

"…a 100-pound bag, Herk. And I want it right away. Lou, you go with him and make sure he don't mess it up."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, Matilda." Two sets of footsteps - one light and quick, the other much more ponderous - moved off in the direction West had come from. A third set shuffled off in the opposite direction and began to mount the stairs. Waiting until the sound of the steps had made a turn at the landing, West came out of hiding, glanced about, spotted another stork hiding on a riser of the staircase, and decided to follow Matilda.

West reached the top of the stairs and peeked out to spot the shuffling form of a stoop-shouldered woman turning into a doorway midway down the upper corridor. The door closed behind her. Swiftly West sped after her as silent as a ghost, reached the same door, then eased it open a crack to find a conversation to eavesdrop on.

"…and if that ain't enough, you done give her the run o' the house!"

"So? _**I **_make the decisions here, Matilda! I don't need my big sister to tell me what to do!"

The first voice was that of an older woman, likely in her sixties, weary with bearing burdens that were not necessarily physical. And the second - male, not far behind the age of the woman, but with a younger and more vigorous tone - the second voice had that delicate mixture of arrogance, superiority, and rank pig-headedness that all great megalomaniacs seem to exude so richly.

"But think about it!" Matilda went on. "If she's got the run o' the house, what's to stop her from just leavin' the house whenever she wants?"

A sigh. "Locks on the outside doors. And of course, there is the - heh heh! - 'insurance.' "

"In a pig's eye! You may think it's insurance, keepin' her sister locked up like that. But I'm tellin' you, she don't give two hoots and a holler fer that sister o' hers. Why, she ain't gone to see her sister once - no, not once! - since we locked her up." A pause. "If you was locked up and I was runnin' free, I'd come see about **you**."

A sound of scoffing. "Really, Matilda, you are so melodramatic."

"Maybe so. But I'm tellin' you, Angus, this one oughta be under lock and key, same as the other. I don't trust her!"

"But I do." Pause. "Is that what this is about, Matilda? Are you… jealous? Were you imagining all this time that when at last my greatest invention was complete, I would waste its powers on **you**?"

"I… I just don't think bringin' in a pair o' strangers…"

"But there was always going to be the need for fresh blood in this project, Matilda. After all, who did you imagine was going to sit in the second chair? Lou? Herk?" As if on cue, the professor brought forth an exquisite display of maniacal laughter. "Besides, who would ever want a kiss from **you**?"

Footsteps started coming toward West in a rising sound of someone climbing stairs. Closing the door back completely, West sprang into the shadows nearby. The door opened again and he heard Matilda fuming, "…and to think I used to change yer diapers when Mama was busy, Angus Smiler!" She stormed away, but somehow storming off in a huff just didn't have the proper effect when done in floppy house slippers.

As soon as Matilda was gone, fulminating away down the other staircase, West slipped back to the door, eased it open again, then melted through it. Who was this Angus Smiler, and what was his greatest invention he was bragging of? Were the pair of strangers Matilda objected to the kidnapped twins? And curious that one was locked up and the other not.

West crouched in the darkness just inside the door for a moment, getting his bearings. The place had the feel of a vast open space; the conversation he had overheard had been from a distance. There was a low wall in front of him and West glanced over it. The room was mostly dark, lit in a few disjointed areas. In shape it was an amphitheater, sloping upward and outward in a series of concentric circles, each larger than the one below, connected by a number of narrow stairways. Though the room was mostly in shadow, West got the impression that most of the levels were crowded with various machines in varying stages of completion. Reaching into his jacket, he produced a compact telescope which he expanded and put to good use to get a closer look at the amphitheater. Hmm - parts of machinery, yes, and other things as well. Some of the stands seem to be general catch-all zones, including one region filled, curiously enough, with exercise equipment. West continued sweeping the lit spaces with the telescope, working his way lower and lower.

Until at last his surveillance reached the ground floor of the room, which held the largest illumined area. In it stood a number of tables, each one filled with beakers and flasks and burners in wild profusion. West thought of his partner's much smaller laboratory aboard the Wanderer; wouldn't Artie just love to have a huge lab like this one!

And then the eyepiece of the telescope isolated the master of the domain. A hunch-shouldered man, his white lab coat splattered with the ghosts of experiments past, thick black gloves on his hands, thick shining goggles over his eyes, a thick shock of going-to-gray hair spilling over his forehead. He seemed happily engaged with his chemicals, and his body language told West that the man believed himself to be completely alone - that, and the fact that he suddenly began to soliloquize.

"Alas, poor foolish Matilda - jealous of the pretty girls she brought to me! Well, she will see. She will see when the one she reproached me about, the one with the run of the house, accomplishes my revenge for me. **Our** revenge, that is! Ah yes, the honor of the name of Smiler shall shortly be restored!

"Imagine, those short-sighted Philistines on the committee denigrating my work! Ha! Saying that the ingenious alterations I had performed upon Herk had transformed him into a monster. A monster! Really! When the only thing monstrous in this whole business is how blind the committee members were, not to be able to recognize the genius of my creation! Well!" And again he laughed maniacally. "They shall rue the day they cast out the name of Angus Smiler as a lunatic, indeed they shall! Except… my, the ability I've given to that young lady works so fast, they might not have the time to rue it! Perhaps I should tell her to mete out my vengeance more lingeringly…"

So, that was Angus Smiler. And his greatest invention, where would that be? In a room that is an amphitheater, thought West, surely the spot for the greatest item, the pride of place, would be the very center of it all.

And yes, there it was. Picked out by a shaft of light even. A curious machine, it seemed to consist of a pair of chairs which were both bolted and wired together. In each seat was laid what looked like a crown or helmet that was absolutely bristling with wires. West could also make out leather straps on the armrests and front legs of the chairs, apparently to make sure that whoever sat in those chairs stayed in those chairs.

Somewhere far below, a door opened and shut. And a voice said, "Matilda is so tiresome."

It was a soft and languid voice, like the purr of a cat. An exotic musky voice. Feminine - oh, thoroughly feminine. The voice of a woman who expected to get her own way, and generally did.

"Matilda was born tiresome," Smiler responded. "But she is my sister, and she keeps the household running." West could see the scientist easily enough even without using the telescope. But where was the man's visitor?

"She thinks I should not trust you," Smiler continued. "She thinks you will escape." He set down the flask he had been working with, tugged off his goggles, then looked off to his right. "But there is no escape. I assured her, and I assure you: there is no escape!"

Her laughter was deep and throaty, an extension of the purr of her voice. West saw her move now, a shadow against shadows, walking - or better said, slinking - toward the scientist. She produced something from the bosom of her dress and tossed it toward Smiler where it landed with a clatter on the laboratory table.

Smiler picked it up and West quickly aligned the telescope to focus on the item. A key. "The house key!" Smiler cried. "Why, where did you get this?"

A chuckle. "I listen," replied the woman. "I watch. I learn. And then, whenever I want to, I take."

"You - you can't leave; I have too much invested in you! Besides, if you do escape, rest assured, your sister will suffer for it!"

That feline laughter again. "My dear Professor Smiler, if I had wanted to leave, I would be gone already. Why would I show you the key, indeed, actually give back to you the key, obliging myself to steal the key once more in order to make my escape? And with you on the alert, knowing I had stolen it from you before!"

Smiler stammered, not succeeding in putting together a coherent answer.

"You see? You did not think this through."

"Then why did you show me you had taken the key?"

"Oh, a minor matter. I did not go **out**, you see. I instead used the key to let someone **in**."

"You did what?" shrieked Smiler.

She laughed merrily. "Really, my dear Professor, you shall give yourself a heart attack!"

"How… how dare you…!" he spluttered.

"How dare I?" Her voice deepened, hardened. "What I dare, I do. I will not be rebuked by you, little man! Besides," she added, the claws retracting, the purr back and smooth as silk once more, "the one I have let in, he will be of no trouble. You see, I gave him a little kiss…"

Smiler blanched at the statement, beads of sweat springing out on his forehead. "What? What?" he cried. "No! I tempered you for **my** purposes, for my revenge! You cannot waste it…"

The velvety chuckle again. "Professor. A woman has many kisses. Perhaps even one for you?"

The scientist blanched again, and West saw him extend a hand toward something on the lab bench. It looked like a gun, but instead of a normal barrel, the business end consisted of a pair of prongs, something like a tuning fork.

"Besides," the woman's voice continued, "now I have tested your invention for you. And you will be happy to know that it works."

Smiler hesitated. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes. We did test with the animals, but now to know that it has the full effect on a human…!" He looked exultant, for a moment. "Oh, but under what conditions did it work? And how rapidly? Really, unless the test is conducted under proper parameters, the results are worthless to me. You should have…"

Again the chuckle. "You wish me to test again here in the laboratory? On you, perhaps?"

"Oh no no no. That's… that's fine, my dear. I'm, ah… sure the results were completely, ah, satisfactory. Ah… But who… who was the fellow?"

In a dismissive voice, she replied, "Oh, someone of no consequence. There was a little man - but they are **all** little men in the end, are they not? - running about outside the house, shaking all the doorknobs, wanting to come in." The purr. "So I let him."

"But who was he?" Smiler insisted.

"Such a silly, fussy little man! He was so glad to see me when I opened the door for him. And I made the wide eyes at him, and he thought I was his _droshche!_" A chuckle. "But I made sure he knew his mistake, at the end."

"Where have you left him?"

"Downstairs, in the study." Her voice dripped indifference.

"I'll have to get Herk to dispose of him, I suppose."

West decided he had heard enough. There was more going on here than just the kidnapping! He closed the telescope and slipped it back into his jacket, then softly opened the door, closing it behind himself just as softly. Back down the corridor he went, and back down the stairs. Just as he reached the ground floor again, however, he heard someone running ahead of him, beyond the corner. Immediately he opened a door to his right and got out of sight.

The lamp on the desk in this room had been left lit. Automatically, West took in the details of the room: desk, bookshelves, grandfather clock, free-standing globe. The fact that there was a far door particularly drew his attention; he crossed to it and took a quick look out, noting that it opened onto a corridor. The key was in the lock, so he locked it and pocketed the key. He turned back…

"I was afraid she meant you," he said to the body lying just this side of the desk. He knelt by the man, checking for heartbeat and respiration, but found neither. He noted the ashen pallor of the man's skin, the vivid kiss-print in lipstick on his cheek, the stark look in his fixed and staring eyes. He also noted that, despite the man's pallor, there was not a trace of blood anywhere at all. And apart from the kiss-print, there wasn't a mark on him to show how he had died. He thought of the shadowy woman's brag of having given a man a "little kiss." Hmm... poison lipstick, perhaps? Artie could probably figure that out back at his lab on the Wanderer.

Reaching out, West laid his hand over the man's eyes, closing them for him forever. It was the least he could do.

Suddenly the door West had entered through burst open and two people rushed in, quickly shutting the door behind them. From his hidden position kneeling behind the desk, West peered out at the newcomers. One was a nicely-dressed, though curiously unshod, young lady with an impressively large book tucked under her arm. And the other was…

"Artie!"

* * *

Artemus turned at the sound of his name to see his partner pop up like a jack-in-the-box from behind the desk. "James! Fancy meeting you here, my boy!"

"Here, catch," said Jim. He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it to Artie, who caught it, saw it was a key, and promptly fitted it into the lock on the door they'd just entered through and locked it.

"You've been busy, I see," Jim observed, then turned to the young lady and said, "Miss Zelnurmofje, I presume?"

"Yes, this is Miss Anushche Zelnurmofje, Jim. Miss Anushche, my partner, James West."

She smiled and stepped forward, holding out her hand to him. "How do you do, Mr West?" she said.

Jim immediately came out from behind the desk. Moving to his right, he took the young lady's hand in his own, murmuring banalities to her, smiling charmingly, his amazing now-blue now-green eyes locked on hers as he gave her the full I-only-have-eyes-for-you treatment, all the while continuing to hold her hand and to move to his right. It was only when he had in this fashion turned her back to the desk completely that he, all in a split second, caught Artie's eye and glanced at the desk, then back to her before she could notice his momentary inattention.

Hmm. Casually, quietly, without doing a thing to draw Anushche's notice to himself, Artie stepped closer to the desk. He did not need to go all the way around to find what Jim had alerted him to. The out-flung arm lying on the floor told him all he needed to know.

And the broken pair of pince-nez glasses, still attached to their black ribbon, told him too much.

While Jim continued to keep Miss Anushche oblivious, Artie disappeared behind the desk to give the dead man a swift and thorough examination. Pulling out a small envelope and a penknife, Artie took a small scraping from the lipstick mark on the all-too-white cheek. And just as he tucked the closed envelope into his pocket, there came a noise. Someone was rattling the doorknob at the far door. Artie sprang to his feet instantly, hoping fervently that Miss Anushche, who had gasped at the sound, would not wonder what he had been looking at on the floor.

"We'd better get out of here," Artie said as he strode quickly to the door they had all entered by. "Problem is, we came in here because I thought we were about to be pursued, but I haven't yet heard… Oh, here he comes."

The ponderous thud of Herk the behemoth's step could be felt now, coming around the corner, heading this way, causing the pictures on the walls to shake and clatter. His big slow voice called out, "Matilda, somethin's wrong wit' Lou!" A door across the hall opened, then closed again, muffling Herk's voice as his steps faded away.

Jim and Artie exchanged nods. "Let's go."

"Oh!" said Miss Anushche suddenly. "But what about my sister?"

"Right now we're going to get you to safety," said Jim. "Then we'll come back for her."

"Ah, I see. Very well then."

Artie unlocked the door and made a cautious check. "It's clear," he said. Jim took point, leading them to and around the corner. Together they hurried down the corridor to the exit. Jim's lock pick was already in his hand; quickly he fitted it into the lock and began to work the tumblers. "Miss Anushche," said Artie quietly, pointing toward the far corner from which he had originally brought her, "you keep watch that way and let us know if you see anyone coming. I'll watch the way we just came from."

She nodded and turned toward her corner, and stiffened. "Lou is gone," she announced.

"I noticed," Artie replied as he turned toward his own corner. "That's probably what kept Herk so long, checking on Lou and then picking him up to… DOWN!"

The other two had not seen what Artie had: the old woman appearing around the corner with a side-by-side shotgun in her hands, a grim look on her face as she brought the weapon up to her shoulder to aim it.

Right at them.

~~~ **FREEZE FRAME **~~~

**End of Act 1**

* * *

Author's Note: See my profile page for a link to the drawing I made for the end of Act 1.


	3. Act 2

**Act 2 ~~~~**

Artemus whirled back toward his partner and the girl, flinging his arms wide as he slammed into them, bearing both to the floor and landing mostly on top of them. He then threw his arms over his own head just as the

**BLAST!**

from the shotgun split the air of the hallway. A tremendous amount of fragmented ceiling plaster, splintered wood, and little metal pellets showered down all over the two agents and the girl. Artie, joyful to find himself alive and reasonably unhurt, glanced up to see an enormous hole in the ceiling. A warning shot that had been; the sound of the other barrel being cocked said that one warning was all they would receive.

"On yer feet and hands in the air!"

Artie was on top of both of the others and so got up first. He started to help Miss Anushche up as well, but the voice behind the shotgun said, "She ain't helpless. Just git up, all o' you, and git them hands high."

They all obeyed and faced their captor, West and Gordon automatically moving slightly forward to place themselves between the young lady they were rescuing and the older woman holding the shotgun.

"Hello, Matilda," said James West, his voice like warm sunshine, his smile easy and open and friendly, his eyes - was that color for real? - sparkling and kind.

Matilda stared at the man. "How you know my name?"

"I know your brother, Angus Smiler," he bluffed. "He's a brilliant scientist, and he never would have gotten anywhere if it weren't for the support and sacrifices made on his behalf by his sister Matilda."

She snorted. "And he still ain't gittin' anywhere, 'cause o' them muttonheads on the committee. Herk!" She looked away from her captives, back up the corridor she'd come from. "Herk! Git yer lazy tailbone down here! I got work fer you."

She was distracted. The barrel of the shotgun wavered and dipped. West was measuring the distance to her with his eyes.

"Jim, you'll never make it," said Artie sotto voce. "She's too far off."

He knew Artie was right. And a moment later the opportunity - if it had even been one - was lost. Matilda turned back to them and fixed her aim.

The floor was shuddering again. Herk appeared at Matilda's side. "Herk," she said, "you bring them two boys along nice and gentle. Girlie, you come here. Git yer hands up!"

Miss Anushche hesitated, then stepped forward. She had noticed that, despite Matilda's repeated orders to hold their hands high, the two agents kept their hands barely higher than their shoulders. Her own hands weren't even that high. She still had her book under her arm and was afraid she would drop it. At Matilda's latest insistence, though, Anushche clamped the book firmly to her side, managing to raise her hands another three inches.

"C'mon there, girl, don't keep me waitin'," said Matilda. Herk was lumbering toward the two agents and Miss Anushche had to squeeze to one side to get past him. "Here we go," said the woman with the shotgun, shoving the girl ahead of her as she turned the corner. "You just open that door and git in there. No, **that** door. Last one on the right, just 'fore the stairs. Herk, bring 'em!"

The man-mountain bore down on the two agents. "James?" Artie murmured quietly. They could fight Herk, or try to, but with Miss Anushche being held by Matilda with the shotgun, fighting at this moment might get the girl killed. Jim gave a barely perceptible shake of his head and raised his hands higher. "We'll come along peaceably," he said.

"Yes," Artie agreed, "just as Matilda said, you can bring us along nice and - hurk! - gentle…"

The behemoth had reached out a meaty hand to either man, grasping each by the scruff of the neck and in that fashion he half-dragged, half-carried the two all the way to the last door on the right, just before the stairs.

* * *

The room was a charming parlor with red flocked walls, a table, two sofas facing each other, a few chairs, and an archway in the far wall off to the left leading into what looked like a dining room beyond. Or at least it would have been a charming parlor, if not for the presence of Matilda's shotgun.

And, of course, Herk.

By the time West and Gordon were hauled into the room, Matilda had taken up a position behind the far sofa and was covering Miss Anushche, who was sitting on the other sofa facing her. "Just drop 'em anywhere," Matilda told Herk.

So he did.

"Now, no funny business, you two," said Matilda as the two agents got to their feet. "And git yer hands up!"

West and Gordon stood up slowly, raising their hands. Each man was looking over the situation, noting how little control Matilda now had. Back in the hallway, the three of them had been in a tight group; she had been able to threaten them all with a fixed aim. In here, she had allowed West and Gordon to get separated from each other while the girl was in a third place altogether. Matilda was jumping her aim from one to the next to the third. She was in fact getting jumpy period. Not only that, but there was someone lying on the sofa the woman was standing behind. West only assumed the man was one of Matilda's associates; Gordon knew it was Lou. For her to stand behind the sofa while her own man rested on it was not a good plan. She just might wind up shooting over that man's head, if not through it.

And she wants no funny business, thought Gordon. Hmm. The woman was already a bundle of nerves. Jim had tried calming her, and she'd only gotten worse. So, thought Artie, let's see what happens if I poke this with a stick…

"All right!" Matilda was saying. "You two git yer gun belts off. Move it!"

Slowly and calmly, the two men complied.

"Now, put 'em…" She glanced round the room, then used the barrel of the shotgun to point. "Put 'em on that table over there." The table was beyond the end of the sofas, well away from the door. "One at a time, now!" she added. "Pretty Boy, you go first."

Jim walked over, laid his gun belt on the table, then returned.

"Now you…"

"Ugly Boy. Yes ma'am, I know," said Artie agreeably.

Matilda narrowed her eyes. "I said no funny business!" she growled.

"Yes ma'am." Artie walked to the table, held out his gun belt, and managed in dropping it to miss the table entirely.

"Put it on the table!" Matilda shrieked. Beads of perspiration were standing out on her forehead now.

"Yes ma'am," Artie said again. As he bent to retrieve the gun belt from the floor, he surreptitiously pulled two bits of putty out of two different pockets, quickly kneaded the bits together, then tossed the putty unobtrusively through the archway into the next room. Now he rose with gun belt in hand, laid it on the table, and returned to his place. "There you go, ma'am," he said affably.

"All right," said Matilda. "Now, who are you two, and how come she's runnin' loose?"

"Well, that one's Alonso P Farnsworth," said a voice from the sofa. It was Lou. The man sat up slowly, holding his head in his hands. He turned his head this way, then that, then gave it a good shake. Satisfied that the head was going to stay on top of his neck where it belonged, Lou now turned his attention to the purported Farnsworth. "Mister," he said, "I don't know how you got the drop on me, but I reckon I owe you one, and it's time to settle out accounts." Eyes glittering, Lou boiled up off the sofa and charged at Gordon.

"No, wait!" Artie cried, holding out his hands. He saw the way Lou was balling up his fist and tried to anticipate the blow.

WHAM! Lou drove his fist at Artie's midsection, and the agent doubled over - but a split-second early, so that not nearly as much energy transferred to his abdomen as his attacker believed did. Artie sank to his knees, doing a beautiful job of miming having had the wind knocked out of him. He also shot Jim a clandestine wink to let him know he was shamming.

"Mr Gordon!" Anushche yelped. She, at least, was buying the act.

"Gordon?" Lou turned to look at her. "He said his name was Farnsworth! And anyway, what're you doing running round loose, girlie? You're the nice one, ain't you?"

"I already asked that, Lou," said Matilda. "Didn't git no answer neither. You! Pretty Boy! What're you two up to, huh?"

West looked her straight in the eye and answered, "The girls' father sent us."

"Father!" moaned Matilda. "Oh, I **tole** Angus this was a bad idea! Look, Lou, you take the girl and lock 'er back up in that closet agin." Lou nodded and crossed to grab Anushche by the arm.

Artie gave a wheezing laugh. Still making a big show of getting his breath back, he said, "Not after what I… huh… did to that lock, you won't!"

All eyes turned to him. "Why?" said Matilda skeptically. "What'd you do to that lock?"

"Oh, just a wee bit… bit of pyrotechnics, that's all."

"Pyro… pyro **what**?"

Artie smiled up at Matilda. "That's when you make things go…"

**BOOM!**

A cloud of beautiful fuchsia smoke came roiling in through the archway, the result of the chemical reaction in the putty Artie had tossed there earlier. Matilda started badly and nearly dropped the shotgun. Suddenly the man she'd called Pretty Boy was in front of her, relieving her of the weapon. "Hey, give that back!" she ordered, grabbing hold of the barrel.

"Matilda," said West quietly. "You want to let go."

"No, I don't!" she insisted. Thrusting her chin out pugnaciously, she jerked on the shotgun, trying to yank it away.

West shook his head and gave the shotgun a complicated twist that ended with Matilda's arm bent in a direction that arms were not meant to bend. The woman shrieked and fell to her knees as something in her elbow decided it had had enough and gave way.

West expertly brought up the shotgun and turned to find a target. Lou? No, Lou was stretched out on the floor by Anushche's feet. "What did you do to him?" Jim asked her.

She shrugged and held up her book. "Tolstoy," she explained.

Ah. Well, that left Herk…

When the explosion had gone off in the other room, Artie had realized that he, by default, was going to have to take on Herk. Hoping the blast had sufficiently distracted the man-mountain, Artie had charged up off the floor and driven his shoulder into the pit of Herk's stomach.

It was like trying to body slam a concrete wall. Artie literally bounced off, landing on his bum. Before he could quite gather his wits again, the world's hugest hand came down and caught him by the throat, lifting him bodily into the air, his feet dangling.

I take it back, thought Artie, grappling with his fingers at Herk's hand as dark spots started filling his vision. Herk isn't short for Hercules; it's the sound you make - hurk! - when he's got you by the throat, choking you to…

"Drop him, Herk!"

That was Jim's voice. Oh yes! Please, please drop me! Artie's fading consciousness begged.

But Herk didn't drop him. Instead the behemoth took a step toward Jim where he was standing between the two sofas with the shotgun in his hands.

CLONK! Now the huge hand vanished. Artie hit the floor hard and lay there gasping, not at all shamming now as he fought to get his wind back.

"Ow!" Herk's slow voice complained. "How come you t'row dat book at me?"

"Well… You were hurting Mr Gordon." That was Anushche's voice.

"Yeah?" said Herk. "Well, now I gonna hurt **you**, lady!" And he took a step toward her.

For a second Artie entertained the ludicrous notion of trying to trip the walking mountain. But then Jim's voice rang out. "Artie! Get out of the way!" And clearing his scrambled senses, Artie rolled, got his feet under him, then dove toward the sofas where Jim and the girl were.

"Back off, Herk," West warned, pointing the shotgun squarely at the giant's midsection.

Herk kept coming.

**BLAM!**

For a couple of seconds everyone's ears rang with the concussion of the shot, and the smoke of it filled the room with an acrid odor. Then everything began to clear.

Incredibly, Herk was standing where last he had been seen, staring down at what was left of his shredded shirt. "Hey!" he said, straightening back up to glare at Jim West. "I liked dat shirt!" He ripped the ruined cloth off and tossed it aside, revealing a pattern of welts all over his middle, but no real damage. Not dead, which he should have been - no, not even bleeding - Herk continued to advance.

Out of ammunition now, Jim reversed the shotgun to use it as a club if need be. "Artie?" he called softly to his partner. "How did he survive that?"

"I'm still working out how _**I **_survived," Artie responded. He was using the sofa to pull himself upright and now leaned over the back of it to rasp to the girl, "Miss Anushche, take a deep breath and hold it." Then, holding up a shiny glass sphere, he wheezed at his partner, "Jim! On three!"

Jim glanced at the smoke bomb in Artie's hand and nodded, drawing in his breath. Artie grabbed the best lungful he could as well, completed the countdown internally, then threw the orb.

POW! The glass popped at Herk's feet, releasing tendrils of lemon-colored smoke that curled and climbed around the big man, reaching up… up…

Herk took another step forward, ignoring the smoke. Then he blinked, and blinked some more. "Wha…?" he said.

He reeled. His eyes rolled up in his head as he swayed.

It was like watching a sequoia fall. The impact shook the room and everything in it.

Artemus pulled out his handkerchief and passed it to Anushche to remind her to hold her breath just a bit longer. A few seconds later he took an experimental sniff of the air and nodded. "It's dispersed enough. Just keep away from any obvious concentrations."

Jim crossed to the table and collected his gun belt, and Artie followed suit. As the two men fastened the belts back on, Miss Anushche clapped her gloved hands and proclaimed, "Capital! You are both my heroes! What do we do now?"

"Leave," said Jim.

"Ah! I like how you think, Mr West," the girl agreed. "I will just get my book…" She turned and began peering at the smoke-shrouded floor beyond the fallen giant.

"Forget the book," said Jim.

"Oh no!" she replied. "My Tolstoy is proving to be an excellent soporific, and I should prefer not to leave it behind."

Artie snickered. "Soporific! I'll get the book." Covering his mouth with the handkerchief, he went over and felt around with his feet till he found the tome, then slid it across the floor into an area clear enough for him to bend down safely to scoop it up. "Here you go, Miss Anushche," he said gallantly as he handed it over, pocketing the handkerchief.

"_Kedurshte djo_, Mr Gordon," she beamed.

"You're very welcome," he responded. He turned to Jim, who was quickly removing the screws from the shotgun to take out the lock and so render the weapon useless. "All right," Jim said, pocketing the lock, "let's go." He crossed to the door and opened it.

And stopped short. Anushche was behind him, so the person standing in the corridor in front of him must be…

"Irenje!" Anushche rushed past Mr West to fling her arms around her twin, dropping her book in the process. As Anushche happily babbled in Pterovnian to her sister, recounting all her adventures, West retrieved the book and passed it to Artie, using the exchange as cover to whisper to him, "Don't trust her, Artie."

"Oh?"

"No time to explain right now. Just…"

"Don't trust her. Gotcha."

Anushche finally ran out of happy chatter and hugged Irenje again. "Oh! I am so glad to see you!"

"And I to see you, _droshche_." Irenje smiled a hooded smile and pressed a kiss deep into Anushche's cheek. The younger twin laughed and kissed her back.

For a second - not even a second - a flicker of a frown crossed the older twin's face. And then she was all smiles again as she tucked her hand through Anushche's elbow and started walking down the hall with her.

"They're both wearing the same ugly gloves," Artie observed to Jim privately. "The gloves Professor Smiler insisted they must never take off after he put them in that… Hey, where are they going?"

Irenje spared only the least glance at the two agents before steering her sister no longer down the hall but across it to the study the three had so recently vacated. The study with the desk, and the nasty surprise behind it.

"Ah, ladies," said Jim, "don't you think it's time to leave?"

"Of course!" responded Irenje, looking at Mr West in much the same fashion as she might have regarded an insect. "And we are leaving. This is a shortcut."

"But, _Zernkje_ Irenje," said Artemus, "the exit is just around the corner there…"

Now he was on the receiving end of that withering glare as well. "I have been in this building for some time now," she said, "whereas the pair of you, whoever you are, have only just arrived. Anushche _droshche_, who do **you** think is more likely to know how to find the exit, hmm?"

"Why, you, _droshche Sjerche_," Anushche answered her dear sister instantly. Then glancing back at her heroes, she added, with downcast eyes, "I mean no offense, Mr Gordon, Mr West, but of course, my sister…"

Smiling, Irenje opened the door and led Anushche through, and the agents had no choice but to follow. As soon as they were in the room, Irenje began to guide her sister toward the corner of the desk. A few steps more, and the two ladies would be stumbling over that out-stretched arm - possibly literally.

"Miss Anushche!"

"Yes, Mr Gordon?"

"Ah… your book." He held it out to her with a slight bow and she smiled brightly at him as she took it. The scowl on Irenje's face, standing just behind Anushche, was very instructive. Artie offered his arm to the younger twin, not entirely sure how he would keep her on this side of the desk, but gamely willing to try.

"Miss Irenje," Jim spoke up. "I'm sure you know your way through this house blindfolded. But the back door in the next hall is…"

"I am _**Zernkje**_ Irenje!" hissed the elder twin, eyes flashing. She glared at James West, then spat at him the word "_Tuvnjeko!_"

Anushche gasped. "_Sjerche!_"

"Come, Anushche," said Irenje imperiously, claiming her sister away from Mr Gordon.

"Oh but," Artie said quickly, his eye landing on the globe. "I was wanting you to show Mr West where precisely your homeland is, Miss Anushche." He smiled winsomely at her, offering his arm once more.

"Oh, but of course, Mr Gordon!" She dimpled at him and took his arm again, apparently quite unaware of how she was being made the rope in this Tug-of-War. She followed him to the globe and, as Mr West joined them, she pointed to the tiny blip on the map. "You see? It is between Carpania and Ruritania."

Jim gave her an engaging smile. "Thank you so very much, Miss Anushche. Now, if you would come with us…" And he gestured toward the door they had entered through.

In a state of high dudgeon, Irenje stalked over and yanked her sister away. "Did you gentlemen not say you wished to leave?" she hissed. "Why then are you wasting time with silly lessons in geography?" And this time without delay she all but dragged Anushche around the desk where…

…where Anushche shrieked. She dropped the book, flinging herself away from the awful sight and into Irenje's arms, wailing in Pterovnian. "Oh, there, there!" Irenje responded, patting her sister's back and pressing another kiss into the younger girl's cheek. And another frown creased Irenje's face.

"_Djenko mujo! Droshko djenko mujo! _Is he… Is he… dead?" Anushche faltered.

"I'm afraid so," said Jim.

"But, but I do not understand! How is it he is dead? And how is it he is even here?" the poor girl continued.

"Why, is it not obvious?" Irenje replied. "These men strove mightily to prevent us from rounding this desk. They knew what we would find here. It is they who have killed him!"

"Now wait just a second!" Artie began heatedly. But Jim gave him a light tap on the side and a tiny shake of the head.

"I…" said Anushche. She looked back and forth between the two men over there - her heroes - and her beloved sister here by her side. "I…" she said again, her eyes troubled.

"Come, _Sjerche!_" Irenje ordered. She pirouetted and flounced away from the desk, crossing the room with rapid strides to reach the far door. She grasped its knob and tried to turn it, then growled out a word in Pterovnian that caused Anushche's cheeks to burn and Artie's eyes to pop. "Why is this door locked?" Irenje demanded. "Where is the accursed key?"

West and Gordon stood with folded arms, not telling.

_Zernkje_ Irenje scowled fiercely, her eyes sweeping the room. There! Pointing, she commanded, "Anushche! Look, the key is in the other door, the one we entered by. Fetch it to me at once!"

"I…" she said, looking again back and forth between her heroes and her sister.

"Come on with us, Miss Anushche," said Mr West genially. "The exit is just in the next hall. You know that."

"I…" she said once more. Then, with downcast eyes, she whispered, "I must do as my sister tells me." And she slipped past the two agents and retrieved the key for Irenje.

The _Zernkje_ was waiting for her with her hand out, and glowered with impatience when Anushche, on her way back, stopped and knelt at poor Dr Rodin's side. The younger girl bent forward, tears sliding down either cheek, and gave the deceased tutor a tender kiss on the forehead, then took up her book and walked silently to her sister. Irenje scowled at her and snatched the key from her hand without so much as a Thank you. "Come!" she commanded as she unlocked the door and thrust her sister through it. She paused long enough to cast a glare at the two agents before closing the door behind her and locking it.

"Where's she taking Anushche?" said Artie as he and Jim rushed to the far door.

"Wherever she's taking her, Anushche isn't safe with her," Jim replied. He pulled out his lock pick and went to work on the door.

"Yeah," said Artie. "I saw how Irenje kept kissing her, then frowning. Same shade of lipstick as on the cheek of our departed friend there." He nodded at the late Dr Rodin as Jim finished with the lock and put the pick away.

The door opened into a hallway and the two men paused, listening. Then Artie nudged Jim and pointed, and the two headed off to the right, deeper into the building, on the trail of the two sisters.

* * *

Inside the study, unseen by any eye, the dead man's pale white cheeks flushed abruptly. The outstretched arm stirred, moved, slowly reaching up to touch the new kiss-mark centered on the no-longer ashen forehead. Dr Rodin sat up, murmuring to himself, "_Hein!_ What has happened?"

And then he remembered. Eyes wide with shock, he looked about, rose up on unsteady legs, then betook himself to the study door and out into the hall, looking for the quickest way out of this house of horror.

* * *

Anushche kept up a nearly continuous patter of words as her sister hauled her along the dark corridor, mostly bemoaning anew the death of her _droshko djenko_, until finally Irenje cut through her babble with an adamant "Hush!"

"But…"

"Will your drivel never cease? Rodin is dead and that is the end of it. He was an idiot anyway. Whoever killed him did the world a favor by ridding it of such a fool."

"But he was a good man, a sweet man. A worthy man was _djenko mujo_. Why would you call him a fool? He loved and protected me. He…" A thought struck her and she asked, "What do you mean by '**whoever** killed him'? You said that Mr Gordon and Mr West killed him. But they are kind men too, and have been protecting me here. You…" This next thought, to Anushche, was nearly blasphemous, but she spoke it nonetheless. "I think you are wrong about them. I do not think they killed Dr Rodin."

"Oh, hush, you prattling infant! I do not wish to hear another word from your puerile mouth!" Irenje yanked her younger twin to a halt in order to open a door to their right, then shoved her through and followed her.

It was a vast room, mostly in darkness. Anushche stopped still, looking around and up, trying to discern walls and ceiling in the dim light, until Irenje propelled her forward with a Pterovnian epithet that was neither kind nor accurate. Her gloved hand in a bruising grip round Anushche's arm, Irenje constrained the younger girl to accompany her to one of the few oases of light in the murky room. A number of tables stood here, cluttered with beakers, flasks, and burners. At one of the tables was a white-coated older man, his back to them for the moment. "Oh, do go away, Matilda!" he threw over his shoulder at them. "Can you not see that I am busy!"

At this point Anushche's curious eyes picked out what was highlighted in the middle of the room beyond the tables where the man stood. "The chairs!" she shrieked and, letting the novel fall once more, she began fighting to free herself from her sister's iron grasp.

Professor Smiler jumped, dropping a flask which shattered on the floor by his foot, its contents promptly bursting into flames. He grabbed a metal tray and inverted it over the fire to starve it of oxygen, then turned to ream the intrusive Matilda.

Instead he saw the twins. He started worse than before, his hand leaping to hover nigh the prong-loaded gun on the table beside him. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Irenje brusquely thrust her sister toward the scientist. "It does not work on her!" she snarled. "Why?"

"And what is she doing running about loose? I need her in case… Wait. Doesn't, doesn't **work**! What do you mean, it doesn't work? But it has to! I need…" He took a couple of steps toward the pair, glanced at Irenje and thought better of that, then gestured, "You, the younger one. Come here."

Tired of being ordered about so, Anushche balked. "Why?"

"Because I need to check something, you silly child! Now, take off one of your gloves… Hmm. Wait. Turn your head."

Frowning, she did so.

Satisfied that there was no birthmark below the girl's right ear, he continued, "Take off your glove and give me your hand."

Still frowning, Anushche obeyed, holding out one bare hand toward the professor. He hesitated a moment, then firmly clasped the proffered hand.

Instantly his body spasmed, his own hand locking itself around hers. His eyes jittered in their sockets, his eyelids firmly jammed open. The muscles of his legs drew him up on his tiptoes, while the muscles of his arms shook compulsively. "I, I, I think tha-that will, will do. Let, let, let me g-g-go!"

Anushche had to practically scrape his hand off hers. He collapsed to the floor where he began to giggle like a child. "Hoo! You, you said it didn't work with, uh, with her. Heh heh. It, yes, it does! The pow-power I infused her with - ah! It's, it's there. Oh oh yes, it's there!" And he reeled where he sat, still occasionally bursting forth with a paroxysm of laughter.

Out in the corridor, Jim and Artie reached the door and paused to listen. No sounds from ahead of them down the hallway, but behind the door, yes!

With a glance around, Artie whispered, "Any idea where we are?"

Jim nodded. "If I've got my directions right, this door leads into Professor Smiler's lab."

"Lab?" Artie's eyes lit up.

Softly Jim eased the door open a crack so they could eavesdrop.

"…not what I mean!" That was Irenje. "It does not work on her!"

"Not work on…" echoed a masculine voice. "What? **What**? You mean **that**? But… but why would you want it to?"

Peering through their small opening, West and Gordon saw a man in a lab coat slowly dragging himself up from the floor. The twins stood near him, the one who was surely Anushche staring with bewildered eyes back and forth between the man and the furious other twin. "What I want and why is none of your business, little man! But this…" and Irenje suddenly hauled Anushche to her side and pressed a kiss once more to her cheek, "does nothing!"

Smiler blinked at her. "Oh, ah, yes," he blathered. "That is, no, it wasn't meant to. I would have never thought… And anyway, she was meant as the insurance; I wouldn't want her to…"

"Silence, fool!" Irenje screeched. Now she was at Smiler's side, in his face, her gloved hand round his throat. "Or shall I give you a memorable kiss?"

The professor shrieked and grabbed something from the table behind him, using it to clout blindly at Irenje, driving her back long enough for him to get the pronged gun into his hand. Immediately he aimed it at her and fired.

Now it was Irenje whose body juddered and twitched spasmodically, arms flailing, eyes rolling up in her head. And then she hit the floor, still convulsing.

Anushche screamed. The door burst open as West and Gordon raced in, Jim leaping toward the professor while Artie knelt automatically by the seizing twin.

"Do not touch her!" Smiler ordered even before he took a good look at the pair. "Wait. Who are you?" he added just as Jim wrested the gun from his hand.

"What did you do to her?" Artie demanded. Yanking his handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to shield his hand so he could detach the Y-shaped prong which had sunk into the front of her clothing. As soon as he had it loose, Irenje's body stopped jerking and lay still. Immediately Artie reached for the motionless woman's wrist to check her pulse.

"I am telling you, do not touch her!" cried Smiler again.

"Fine!" Artie retorted. Instead, he produced a hand mirror and held it in front of Irenje's mouth to check for misting on the glass surface, while also watching for the lift and fall of the woman's torso. "Well, she's breathing," he said at last. "What is this thing?" He examined the prong he still held in the handkerchief. It seemed to be made of - hmm, not wood exactly, but something that was definitely not metallic. Two wires were attached to the prong, each wire ending in a projecting exposed portion on its respective upper end of the Y. The other ends of the wires exited the bottom through the common branch of the Y and trailed back toward the gun. Artie came to his feet and held his hand out to Jim who turned the odd weapon over to him.

Odd it was, most certainly. It had stock and barrel like a revolver, but where the cylinder should be, instead there was mounted something that looked like a reel for a fishing rod. The wires to the prong were dangling out the barrel. Artie took hold of the handle, which was affixed horizontally across the top of the gun, and gave it a turn. The wire began to disappear back into the barrel. He wound more vigorously, ear cocked toward the device. "Sounds like…" he muttered, "some… some sort of dynamo?"

"Don't you dare steal my design, young man! I'm going to patent that! Ow! Hey!" Smiler added as Jim pulled his arms behind his back to cuff him.

"You're under arrest," West informed Smiler, "for the kidnapping of these two young ladies. Now come along…"

The door crashed open, almost coming off its hinges as Herk came charging through. He jumped right over Irenje's inert form, his eyes wild with fury as they swept the room.

Artie instantly backed Anushche out of the behemoth's reach, keeping himself between the girl and the giant. Herk only glanced at him for a moment before dismissing him. His eyes continued on round the room, coming to rest on…

"You!" He pointed a hand the size of a dinner plate at West. "You shot me with dat shotgun!"

"You did?" said Smiler, turning to the man behind him. "My my, what a foolish thing to do! It only made Herk angry, as you can see. You, ah, will be taking these cuffs off me now, of course?"

Reluctantly, West complied.

"Ah, much better," said Smiler, living up to his name as he shook out his wrists. "Tell me, whoever you are, what do you think of my little friend Herk here, hmm? Impervious to any sort of damage to his skin. Knives, arrows, swords - and as you learned, bullets and buckshot - all are useless against my glorious giant! Only the merest pinpricks can break his skin, and even those heal in a trice! I did that to him, you see. I imbued Herk's skin with… ah, but that would be telling," he added with a meaningful glare at the other stranger, the one who still held the prong gun. "Another invention of mine. Which I shall be patenting, so don't even think of trying to steal my process!" And he scowled so fiercely at the taller of the unknown pair that Artie finally responded with, "Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good!" said Smiler. "Now, Herk, you're being so patient like a good boy. Here, you may have this irritating intruder now." And the professor stepped to the side, clearing the path for Herk to get to West.

Jim didn't wait for the giant to close with him. He grabbed a jar from the nearest table, glanced at the label which read "Oil of Vitriol," ripped the lid off, and hurled the contents at Herk.

Smoke coiled up from the hulking figure. Herk looked down at himself, bellowed, "Hey! I liked dis shirt too!" and ripped the newly ruined top away, roaring with rage. Jim, meanwhile, had rounded the nearest table and now tipped it over toward the giant. All the paraphernalia from the table top went slithering off to the floor in a series of grand splintering crashes. Liquids of all descriptions splattered across the floor, eliciting a howl of protest from Professor Smiler. Herk, with a vicious snarl, seized the table and heaved it out of his way, sending it skittering off to crash into the wall.

Jim was on the move already, racing for the closest stairway up into the amphitheater stands, Herk pounding right after him. Artie, having reasoned that the weapon in his hands was both reeling up the wire and building up an electrical charge as he turned the handle, was cranking it for all he was worth until at last the prong engaged in the barrel and the trigger clicked forward. Now he aimed it, drawing a bead on Herk's retreating back.

"No!" Suddenly the professor grabbed Gordon's wrist and shoved his arm upward, spoiling his aim. The two wrestled over the gun until it abruptly pitched free, clattering across the floor with both men lunging after it. Anushche snatched up her book and darted to huddle near the door, trying to stay out of the way of the contestants for the gun.

Jim was charging up the stairs now, swatting loose equipment from left and right into the path of the persistent behemoth. Not much further, thought the agent. Turning off to his left, he ran along the seats, hurdling over any impedimenta in his way, with Herk still in hot pursuit.

In the tussle for the gun, Artie managed to get his hand on it, only to be shocked when Smiler nabbed that hand and sank his teeth into it as if he were a petulant two-year-old. Artie lost his grip on the gun, and when Smiler bent to scoop it up, Mr Gordon promptly gave him a good kick in the seat of the pants, sending the scientist sprawling into the puddle of chemicals and broken glass from the overturned table. Smiler shrieked and scrambled clear, jerking off his lab coat and using it to dab off the caustic liquids.

Artie now picked up the gun once more and turned to try to acquire his target in the discontinuous darkness of the far side of the room.

Jim attained his goal, a certain grouping of stored items he had noted in passing during his earlier visit to the upper regions of the amphitheater. Snatching something up, he whirled and called out, "Herk! Catch!" and heaved the thing toward the giant.

Herk's hands came up automatically, even before his brain registered that the thing flying toward him was a medicine ball. He did not catch it, however, but batted it off to the side, his eyes following it for a moment as it sailed on and down into the lower stands. "Ha!" the behemoth exulted, "you t'ought you could take me out wid a…?"

KLONG!

"With a medicine ball? No, Herk," said West as the much smaller bit of exercise equipment bounced off Herk's head. "But the dumbbell right after - yeah, that's a different story."

The giant reeled, losing his balance in the narrow footwell of the stands, then fell, tumbling and sliding down over the benches of the amphitheater to smash in the end headfirst into the floor.

Gordon whistled. "Oh, that's gotta hurt. Hey, Jim, you all right?"

"Yeah, Artie, I'm fine," came a voice from midway up the stands. And shortly Mr West emerged into the light again, heading back toward his partner.

And what of Smiler? The scientist was cringing by a bucket of water, scooping out the cooling liquid by the dipperful and pouring it over his many chemical burns.

"Once again, Professor Smiler," James West said to him, hauling him to his feet, "you're under arrest. Now come along quietly…"

He was interrupted by a feminine shriek, followed immediately by a masculine voice saying, "I don't think so!"

Those sounds had come from the door. Both agents swung about to see…

But of course, Lou. One of his hands had a firm grip on Miss Anushche's arm while his other hand had a gun. Grinning, Lou said, "Now, we don't want anything bad to happen to this little girlie, do we?"

Even before either agent could react, Professor Smiler himself gave a screech and commanded, "Louis! Put that gun away. She's the insurance; you are not to harm her in any way!"

"Oh! Uh… sure, Professor, sure. Sorry, Professor," Lou responded and holstered the gun.

"Much better!" Smiler declared. "Now. Take the young lady and lock her back up in her room, there's a good fellow."

"Sure, Professor." Lou started to lead Anushche away, her book clasped tightly to her breast, but he stopped short when he heard Gordon say, "That won't be easy."

"Excuse me? What do you mean, Mr Whoever-you-are?" Smiler queried disdainfully.

With a modest grin, Artie said, "Oh, it's only that I, uh, burned out the lock when I released Miss Anushche. You won't be able to use that room for a cell until you fix the lock. And besides," he added, "Tolstoy."

Anushche's head came up and she looked at Artie, deducing his meaning immediately. Lou, not understanding why Gordon had said "Tolstoy," also looked sharply at the agent, paying not nearly as much attention to the young woman beside him as he really should have at that moment. Of course, once she clobbered him anew with the novel, then he learned the meaning of "Tolstoy" the hard way. Down went Lou, victim of the same Russian novelist for the third time in the past couple of hours.

Artie came over and relieved Lou of his revolver, tossing it up into the stands to mingle with all the eclectic junk up there. Turning to Anushche, he asked, "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "_Dasda_, Mr Gordon."

"Good. Now let's get your sister and… Ah… James? Did you happen to see what became of _Zernkje_ Irenje?"

West paused in the act of cuffing Smiler yet again. "You mean she's missing?"

Everyone conscious looked around, including the professor, but there was no sign of Irenje.

"You sure you didn't see what became of her, Jim?" Artie asked again hopefully.

He shook his head. "I was a bit busy, Artie."

"Yeah. Me too. And you, Miss Anushche?"

"I did not notice anything about my sister from the time Herk entered the room until just now, Mr Gordon," she replied, a worried look on her face.

"Hmm. And what about you, Professor?"

Smiler glowered. "Really! If I did know where she went, do you think I would tell you?"

"You might," said West. "If, for example, you thought she was about to attack you again."

"Attack me!" Smiler scoffed. "Why, the very idea!"

"Oh yes," said Gordon. "Threatened you with a 'memorable kiss,' as I recall. Isn't that right, Jim?"

"Mm-hmm. And here you are, Professor. Cuffed. Helpless."

"Unarmed," added Artie, displaying the prong gun, still safely in his own hands.

Smiler's confident façade shattered, and he began glancing over his shoulders, utterly unnerved. "You, ah, you won't let her get me, will you?" he beseeched.

"We'll see," said West. "Off we go now." He snagged the scientist and steered him through the door, turning to the left to return the way they had come. A light tap on the arm drew his attention. "Yeah, Artie?"

Artemus gave a small jerk of his head, inviting Jim off to the right of the door instead. Sotto voce, he asked, "Think maybe there's a way out of here, Jim, that doesn't involve passing through the - ahem! - udy-stay with the ead-day ody-bay?" And he glanced meaningfully at the girl.

Jim considered. "Probably is, but which way? I wouldn't trust any directions Smiler might give us…"

There was a yelp, and Anushche darted around the two men to hide behind them. "What…?"

"Ah, Herk!" came Smiler's voice. "Excellent! Now if you would deal with these?" The scientist turned his back to the looming giant and beckoned with his cuffed arms. Herk, apparently none the worse for his plunge down the side of the amphitheater, took hold of the handcuffs and easily disassociated one manacle from the other. "Good, good," said Smiler. "Now, Herk, you just dispose of those two tiresome troublemakers while I find the young lady another guest room. Young lady! Come with me!"

She shook her head even as Artie leaned in close and murmured, "This is the moment for which you removed your shoes, Miss Anushche. Run!"

That order she instantly obeyed, pelting off up the corridor into unknown territory, Mr Gordon right on her heels.

Jim, however, lingered a bit to give his partner more time to get Miss Anushche out of there. Eyes locked on Herk, a small smile on his face, Jim dropped back slowly, gracefully, matching his movements to Herk's, keeping just beyond the behemoth's grasp.

"Stay still, little man!" Herk growled, advancing on the smiling West, making snatches at him that kept coming up empty. Throwing his arms wide, Herk lunged. And somehow, West was no longer here but there! Again Herk lunged, and this time West landed a disorienting chop to the giant's neck before springing out of reach again.

"Really, Mr Whatever-your-name-is, do you want to infuriate Herk in that manner?" called Smiler from a position of safety well behind his colossus. "When Herk finally gets hold of you, he will snap you like matchsticks!" the professor warned cheerfully.

"Maybe. But he'll have to get hold of me first," West retorted as he caught Herk off balance from yet another fruitless lunge and took advantage of it to kick him in the ear.

Artie, running, glanced back out of concern for his partner. Then, "Wait a minute!" he muttered to himself in disgust. "What am I carrying this thing for anyway, if not to use it?" He stopped short, aimed the prong gun back down the hall at the giant, and called out, "Hey, Jim!"

West took a swift look behind him, saw what Artie had in mind, and dodged to one side to get out of his line of fire.

Artie pulled the trigger.

The Y-shaped prong sailed out, the wires trailing… trailing… trailing… All too soon the projectile reached the full length of its wires and fell short. Badly short. "Consarn it!" Artie growled and set about cranking the wires back in as rapidly as possible.

"Just go!" West hollered, jumping back into his task of worrying the giant.

"Just… a bit… more…" Gordon replied. "… and… there! Jim!"

Jim glanced at him, and Artie tossed him the prong gun. Jim caught it and turned his attention again to Herk while Artie grabbed Anushche's arm and the two of them bolted up the corridor again.

Putting a bit more distance between himself and the enraged Herk, Jim gave the prong gun a quick once-over, then lifted the weapon.

He aimed it.

He fired.

Once again the Y-shaped prong sailed out toward its target, the wires trailing behind it. But this time the prong made contact. _BRZAP!_

Jim didn't linger to watch the spectacle of Herk taking the full force of the electrical discharge. Casting aside the gun, he sprinted after his partner.

Ah! thought Artie. They were coming up shortly on the end of the hallway. It opened out, he could see, into a larger room with, Hallelujah! an ornate door that could only be the main front door of the house, flanked on either side by floor-to-ceiling windows. A long room it was, several yards deep. Putting on a sprint of speed, Artie outran the girl so as to enter the room well ahead of her in order to draw the attention of any occupants to himself first. As he burst into the room, he glanced quickly left and right. Empty! Excellent. Now to get the door open. He was about to run a mental inventory of the gadgets he still had on him, when something else came to mind.

"Anushche!" he called, half turning so that he was jogging backwards as he held out his hands toward her. "Tolstoy!"

She was scurrying into the room herself now, Startled, she nonetheless heaved the tome to him. He caught it easily, then turned back and, putting on even more speed, wound up and pitched…!

CRASH! Right through one of the tall windows went Mr Tolstoy's masterwork. Dashing up to the demolished window, Gordon seized a length of the curtain and used it to knock away even more of the shattered glass, widening and heightening the opening. And as Anushche came panting up beside him, he reached over and swung the girl up into his arms.

"Mr Gordon!" she squeaked in surprise.

"Broken glass and stocking feet don't mix well, Miss Anushche. Out we go!" He plunged through the opening and turned to yell, "Come on, Jim!"

"Right behind you, Artie!" Jim called back.

Artie nodded and carried Anushche away along the veranda until he could find a safe place to set her down.

Jim reached the ruined window for himself now and eased through it, only to hear a voice behind him crying out, "Oh please!"

Jim turned back to see one of the twins inside the front room, hurrying toward him. He glanced at Artie with the unshod Anushche in his arms, then looked back through the window and said, "Yes, Miss Irenje?"

He saw the tiny flash of anger that came up in her eyes, no doubt from him addressing her yet again as "Miss." Then she controlled it and, sweet as pie, said, "Oh please, won't you take me away from this horrible place too?"

He gave her a smile. At least now he and Artie wouldn't have to make a return visit to liberate the elder twin as well. "Of course, Miss Irenje," he said. She was now standing opposite him, just inside the window, looking dubiously at the broken glass. He held out his hand to help her step through, and she brought her hand out from behind her back to accept his help.

Her hand. Her ungloved hand.

Too late Jim recalled what Artie had said about the gloves and saw the danger. Irenje's hand closed on West's.

He froze. He could still think; his mind was in perfect working order. But his body was as motionless as a store's mannequin. Strive as he might, and Jim West strove to his utmost, he could not move so much as a muscle.

Irenje smiled and lifted her chin. Stepping lightly and easily through the window, she circled him, studying him, admiring him, then laughed a laugh that was one part chuckle and two parts purr.

"Mmm," she said as she continued to circle him, "and which one are you then: Mr West, or Mr Gordon? Not that it matters, of course, for soon you will simply be Mr Dead, just like that idiot tutor. You do know what I did to him, do you not?" She smiled a lazy, feral smile. "First I paralyzed him with a touch, then I killed him with a kiss. Does this perhaps sound familiar?" She stopped in front of him and gazed at his handsome immobile face. "Men are fools," she proclaimed. "Men who delight in silly girls like my sister, even more so. I do not know why my kiss does not affect her." She leaned in closer, showing her teeth. "But it will affect you!"

Artie, just to be sure, had borne Miss Anushche the length of the veranda before setting her gently on her feet again. "There you go," he said.

She smiled up at him, her hand lingering on his lapel. "_Kedurshte djo_, Mr Gordon."

"My pleasure, Miss Anushche," he responded. He then turned to see what was keeping Jim.

Ah! Apparently Jim had managed to meet up with _Zernkje_ Irenje. Curious though how very still his friend was standing. And what was Irenje doing, walking all around Jim like that? She stopped now, looking up into Jim's face, speaking to him words that Artie could not hear. And then Irenje laid a hand on Jim's chest and leaned close to press a kiss to his cheek.

Jim collapsed. Like a marionette whose strings had just been cut, he dropped to the wooden planks of the veranda and lay still.

~~~ **FREEZE FRAME **~~~

**End of Act 2**

_The link for the illustration I made to end this chapter is available on my profile page._


	4. Act 3

**Act 3 ~~~~**

"Jim!"

Irenje pivoted slowly to face the man who had just cried out, the man at the far end of the veranda near her sister. Irenje smiled - no, smirked! - brought up her hand to her lips and blew that man a kiss, then stepped elegantly back through the window and vanished.

Artie was running. He landed on his knees by Jim's side, ignoring the many lacerations the shards of sharp glass slashed into his legs. He wrapped his fingers round his pal's wrist, feeling for his pulse. Dropping the wrist with a growl of frustration, he felt instead along Jim's neck for the carotid…

Yes! "It's there. He still has a pulse," he murmured to himself in relief.

"Mr Gordon?"

"No, stay back, Anushche; you'll cut your feet," he ordered instantly. Gently Artie slipped his arms under the inert body of his best friend, then came to his feet, lifting Jim, cradling him. "Come on, buddy, stay with me," he implored as he hopped down from the veranda and strode away into the gathering twilight, carrying Jim back to the Wanderer. Miss Anushche trotted along after him as fast as she could go, doing her best to keep up with the anguished Mr Gordon.

* * *

Artie skirted the station house, heading directly across the jumble of tracks that crisscrossed the railroad yards. "Anushche, I need you to give me a hand with something," he said as they drew near the rear platform of the private train.

"Yes, Mr Gordon. What is it?"

He stopped for a moment. "My left vest pocket," he said. "You'll find my key to the varnish car in it. Take it and get the door open for me."

She fished out the key. "Varnish car? What is that?"

"The rearmost car of the train right in front of us."

"Ah." She hurried to obey, shoving the door wide for him, then getting out of his way. Artie swept past her to settle Jim gently on the sofa that served as a divider between the parlor area and the dining area.

"And would you turn up the lights, please?" he requested, accepting the key back absently as he crossed to the speaking tube and blew into it. He placed it to his ear, listened, then brought it to his mouth again. "Orrin, it's an emergency. Mr West is badly injured and needs to be taken to a hospital at once. There is no hospital in this town, so best speed back to Atlanta, please." He moved the end of the tube back to his ear again and listened, then spoke into the tube once more. "Thank you, Orrin. I'll be doing what I can for him here in the meantime."

He put the tube away and came back to the sofa, then felt again for Jim's carotid. "Well, his pulse is still there," he said. Broodingly, mechanically, Artie took off his jacket and his gun belt, discarding them across a nearby chair.

"Mr Gordon? I have finished with the lights. What shall I do now?"

Artie glanced at her and smiled wanly. "Just… try to make him comfortable. I'll be in the baggage car, seeing if I can find anything in the lab that might be of help to him." He went to the right-hand door at the far end of the room and disappeared down the corridor beyond.

Anushche dropped her purse in the chair with Mr Gordon's things, then started to set down also… oh… but she no longer had the book. Somehow after it had gone out the window, she had lost track of it.

No matter. She went and stood over Mr West, the poor man. Make him comfortable, Mr Gordon had said. Hmm. Surely to lie on a sofa with a gun belt around one's waist could not be comfortable. She knelt beside the comatose man and puzzled for a bit over the buckle. She fumbled at it, then frowned. Stripping off those ungainly gloves, she tossed them aside and tried again.

Ah, there! Now to - ugh - to pull it from, from under him… "I hope I am not disturbing you, Mr West," she said softly. She succeeded at last in dragging the gun belt free and deposited it in the same pile with Mr Gordon's things.

What next?

Hmm. Mr Gordon had also taken off his jacket. So Anushche set about removing Mr West's as well. She started by undoing all the fasteners, then took a firm grip on his right cuff and gave a tug.

Nothing. "Oh, that will not do!" she told herself. "Perhaps this way…" And taking hold of the cuff once more, she tried this time also pushing his hand down into the sleeve…

In the baggage car, Artie stood staring at his bottles of chemicals, one hand perched on his hip, the other hand up at his face, tapping at his nose. What might help? he ruminated. What might possibly…

"_**Mr Gordon!**_"

What? Artie hit the door running, hurdled the space between the cars, then sprinted down the corridor past the staterooms and the galley. He shoved through the door back into the parlor and took in the scene before him: Anushche was on the floor, her eyes like saucers, one hand over her mouth, the other a-tremble as it pointed at the sofa.

The sofa. Artie could not see the figure on the sofa, not from this angle. Jim? His pulse had been so weak. Thready. Surely - oh, surely he hadn't…

Artie came round the end of the sofa, dreading to look. With his heart in his throat, his voice came out as a croak: "Jim?"

"Yeah, Artie?"

"Jim!"

He was alert, looking around, but still so very motionless yet.

The silver-tongued speaker was struck dumb with relief for a moment, tears rimming his eyes. Finding his voice again, he said, "Whew! For a bit there, Jim, I thought I'd lost you."

"For a bit there, Artie, I thought the same."

"Well, how are you? Can you get up?"

Jim shook his head. "Everything from the waist down is still numb."

"Ah." After a moment's thought, Artie added, "Well, if you improved this quickly spontaneously, it shouldn't be too long before…"

"Not spontaneously."

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't get better spontaneously."

"You didn't? Well then - what did happen?"

Jim's eyes cut toward Anushche.

Hmm? Artie looked at her as well. The poor kid was cringing on the floor, looking so very, very scared. "I don't understand," said Artie.

"Neither do I," Jim replied. "All I know is that when Irenje took my hand, her touch paralyzed me. She then told me that she was going to do to me what she had done to…" He glanced at the girl and surreptitiously made a gesture miming the polishing of glasses.

"Right," said Artie. "I, uh, saw her kiss you."

"And that was the last I knew until just now when, ah…" Jim paused, frowning. "Artie, it was the strangest thing. The two times Irenje touched me, it felt as if all the life was being sucked out of my body. But just now, it was the opposite: life pouring back in, surging in."

"And the source?" said Artie, already suspecting what Jim would answer.

Once again Jim cut his eyes at the girl.

Artie turned toward her. "Miss Anushche?"

She shook her head, her eyes still wild, her frame curled up as small as she could make herself. "I did not mean it! I, I forgot I had the gloves off. I did not mean to hurt him!"

Artie exchanged glances with James, then said to the girl soothingly, "But you didn't hurt him, Anushche. Quite the contrary; you made him better."

She was still shaking her head. "It… it was like when I touched Professor Smiler. His arms flailed, and his eyes! Oh, his eyes! I thought, I thought he was going to die! And when I let him go, he fell to the floor and started giggling."

Again Artie looked at Jim. "When was this, Anushche?" Jim asked her.

"In, in the lab. Shortly before the professor shot Irenje, and the two of you came crashing into the room."

"Well," said Artie, "you certainly didn't hurt Professor Smiler. He was plenty lively when I was wrestling him for the prong gun a few minutes later." He thought for a moment. "Anushche, I want to try something. I want you to come here and touch Mr West's hand."

Her eyes went, if possible, even wilder than before and she scooted away, backing herself part-way up under the desk. "_Njede!_ No, no! I will hurt him! I do not wish to hurt Mr West!"

"You won't hurt me," said Jim encouragingly.

"You see?" said Artie. "Jim's not afraid of you. And I'm not afraid either." He took a step toward the cowering girl, then realized that from her perspective, he must look like he was looming over her, so he knelt down to make himself look less intimidating. Ouch! He'd forgotten about the cuts along his shins from the broken glass on the veranda. Ignoring that, he said, "Anushche. _Droshche_. There's no reason to be scared, _droshinje_. We know that you would never hurt anyone, a sweet little girl like you."

She only huddled where she was, shaking her head, whispering to herself in Pterovnian, "_Njede, njede_…"

"_Droshche_," he repeated, slipping a little closer. "_Droshinje_. Sweetheart. Little sweet girl." He ducked his head, looking up at her from under his eyebrows, smiling genially. "Anushche," he called. And when that did not capture her attention, he added, very quietly, "_Katjenje_."

Her head came up. "What? What did you say?"

"I called you '_katjenje_.' "

"But… You know what that means?"

"Yes. Every Pterovnian girl is permitted to choose for herself a protector, a mentor. A _djenko_. And her _djenko_ calls her his _katjenje_."

She nodded. "Dr Rodin was my _djenko_. But he is dead."

"Then you need a new one."

She had moved closer. "By tradition, he is an old friend of the family."

"True."

She thought it over for a bit. "Count Ljudko sent you," she said slowly. "And he is an old friend. And he trusted you - both of you - to take care of my sister and me…"

Now, unnoticed while she was reflecting, Artie inched closer. He stopped when she again looked up at him. "Do you really wish," she asked, "to become my _djenko?_"

"If you'll have me." Again he gave her that affable smile. "_Droshinje_," he said.

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and a little sparkle came up in her eyes. "_Droshtafko_…" she responded.

Artie laughed and said, "Oh, cute. Very cute. But then I deserved that, didn't I?"

From the sofa, Jim observed dryly, "I suppose I should have invested in a Pterovnian-English dictionary…"

"Ah. Sorry about that, Jim." Helpfully Artie explained, "_Droshche_ is 'sweetheart,' spoken to a girl; _droshko_ the equivalent to a boy. _Droshinje_ is 'sweet little girl'…"

"And _droshtafko_," said Anushche, "is 'sweet old man.' " She grinned at Artie now. Grinning back, he raised his eyebrows and spread his arms open. "_Katjenje?_"

"_Djenko_," she responded. And she slipped into his arms.

He held her close, whispering to her soft phrases in Pterovnian. She rested her cheek against his beautiful brocade vest, gradually relaxing, the tension draining out of her.

"There," said Artie. "Isn't that better?"

"_Dasda_. But, Mr Gordon…"

"Artemus," he corrected.

"…Artemus. Are you truly not afraid that I will hurt you?"

"Of course you won't hurt me!" He gave her one of his endearing lop-sided smiles. "And you haven't hurt me. You see? You're right here in my arms and nothing has happened."

"True… But I have not touched you."

"Then do so." He held a hand out to her, smiling winsomely, engagingly.

She stared at his hand and the horror came up in her eyes again. "No. No! When I touched Professor Smiler…"

"Oh, stop worrying," said Artie and took her hand.

He had thought he was prepared for what would happen next, but instantly found that Jim's description of the sensation as "life surging in" was wholly inadequate. In fact, the word "surge" didn't even begin to cover it. Raw unshackled power went racing up his arm, firing off every nerve in its path until it hit his brain like a cannonball. His eyes dilated; his breath caught in his throat.

The contact lasted less than a second before Anushche jerked her hand back. "You see? You see?" she cried and pushed him away.

"No, no, it's all right!" he responded, his other arm not letting her loose. "Really. It was… it was just stronger than I expected, that's all. It, um, actually feels pretty good now," he added. "Like my arm just got renewed." And he stared at the arm for a second.

"You're lying!" said Anushche, still trying to get away.

"Am I? If I were afraid of you, _droshche_, if I thought the touch of you would hurt me, would I do this?" And drawing her close, he kissed her avuncularly on the forehead.

He wasn't caught by surprise this time when the power rammed into him. It was like kissing a lightning bolt, or like standing under a waterfall and trying to drink from it with upturned face. He steeled himself and did not flinch, wrapped his arms round her and did not let her go. As before, he felt every nerve firing off and felt the impact, almost a physical jolt, when the power smashed into his brain. It was like the top of his head was about to come off, and yet, curiously enough, he found that it was not at all an unpleasant sensation.

His idea, of course, had been to give her a dramatic demonstration of how sure he was that touching her was not dangerous, and so he wanted to be careful not to draw back from her too quickly. The problem, he now found, was that the longer he kissed her, the more he wanted to go on kissing her. It was… it was… like the finest meal he'd ever eaten, or the best wine he'd ever drunk. Intoxicating. That was the word for it. Inebriating.

He needed to stop now. He was getting drunk.

Slowly he leaned back, ending the kiss and the contact. The sudden absence of that exhilarating power struck him with a shock like that of being plunged into an ice-water bath. He blinked, blinked heavily, then shook his head and muttered, "Wow…"

"Artemus?" That was Anushche's voice. He had to fight to focus on her, even though she was only inches away. She was looking intently into his face. "You are all right?"

He smiled at her, his eyes definitely glazed and out-of-focus. "Hi!" he said brightly.

"Artie?"

And that was Jim's voice. Artie swung about and peered at his buddy over there on the sofa. "Yeah, pal?"

"You **are** all right, aren't you?"

"Never better!" His grin lit up his whole face. He chuckled, then hiccuped.

"You sure about that, Artie?" said Jim.

"Oh yeah! Everything's per, per, uh, perfec'ly wunnerful! Hey, oh, hey!" he added, turning back to the girl. " 'Nushche _droshinje_, you have **gotta** go do that for Jim!"

"What, kiss him?" she said hesitantly.

"Uh… sure. Sure, if you wanna. I jus' meant touch 'im."

"Artie, you're slurring."

"Yeah? I, uh…" He yawned, blinked, then grinned inanely again. "You… y'know what? I, uh, think I, I oughta… Hold that thought," he finished. And slowly he keeled over to sprawl on the varnish car floor.

Anushche drew back, eyes hollow. "I killed him."

"No, you haven't," Jim responded.

"How can you be sure?" she asked.

A sound like the ripping of cloth filled the room. Jim waited for the noise to subside, then answered reassuringly, "Because dead men don't snore."

* * *

Artie woke slowly, luxuriatingly. He stretched richly, then settled his two hands behind his head. Ahhhh… He felt wonderful, like ten years had been reimbursed to him overnight. The familiar rhythm of the train as it traveled through the night had formed a pleasant background music to his slumber, but now, he noted, the journey was done; they had arrived - somewhere. The soft light peeking round the edges of the curtain at his stateroom's window told him it was morning.

He lay on his bed a bit longer, waiting for memory to awaken as well and inform him where they were and why. In the meantime, he just felt so **fine**.

"Finer than frog hair," he murmured to himself and chuckled.

Well… Time to get up.

He rose and realized that he had been sleeping in his clothes. Why was that? Let's see. Last night he had… he had…

It all hit him in a rush now. Jim! Artie bolted from his room and charged into the parlor where he had last seen his partner.

And there was Jim, on the sofa still, but sitting up and nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up. " 'Morning, Artie. Coffee's on," he said with a gesture toward the galley.

"How you feel, Jim? You ok?"

Jim gave a small smile and set the cup of coffee aside on the back of the sofa, then stood up to his feet - oh, but so very slowly! He took a cautious step forward, noticing how Artie darted out a hand to help him.

The next instant Jim landed a short series of sparring moves on his old friend that ended with Artie sprawled on the varnish car floor again.

"Oof! Oh, you're ok, all right," said Artie as Jim laughed and gave him a hand back up. "You just watch. You'll get your comeuppance, James my boy."

Jim grinned, plopped onto the sofa again, and went back to his coffee. "Well, think about it, Artie. Did you really need to ask me if I was ok? Who do you think made the coffee? And for that matter, who do you think hauled your snoring carcass off to tuck you in last night? Anushche?"

Artie laughed sheepishly. "Yeah, you're right. Oh, speaking of Anushche…" He glanced round the parlor, seeing no sign of her except for her purse lying on a chair.

Jim waved toward the corridor. "I gave her my room."

"Oh? You could have put her in mine, you know. I would have slept out here. For that matter, I already was, wasn't I?"

Jim chuckled. "True. But I'd staked out the sofa, so it was no problem." He took a sip of his coffee, then reported, "I spoke to Orrin once we arrived here in Atlanta and assured him that I was fine and the emergency was over, and told him to get some sleep until we know what our next move should be. And as for that," Jim gave a nod toward the desk, "I telegraphed Washington to advise them that we have Anushche, but Irenje seems to have thrown in her lot with the kidnappers. Waiting now to hear back what the President wants us to do."

"The Ambassador's not going to like that."

"I know, but we can't help that." He paused. "By the way, Artie, what happened to your pants?"

"My… my pants?" Artie looked down and saw all the myriad gashes that had shredded the front of his trousers just below the knees. "Oh right! I forgot about that. That happened when I picked you up off the veranda last night. All that broken glass, you know."

Jim frowned. "I didn't notice it till just now, or I would have put some iodine on the cuts for you when I put you to bed. You'd better go see to them. I'll get breakfast."

"Ha! You want our guest to be able to eat it? **I'll** get breakfast. However…" Artie felt up and down his shin, then rolled up the pants leg. "Uhh…"

Jim came on the alert at once. "How bad is it?"

"That's just it: look!"

For there was not a cut, not a laceration, not a mark on his skin whatsoever. A bit nonplussed, Artie let the pants leg fall and said to Jim, "Did Anushche do that?"

"She's pretty useful, isn't she?"

"Yeah. Um. Look, I'll go get changed and then make breakfast. Omelets ok?"

"Sure, Artie."

* * *

By the time he was dressed and ready to take on the day - or at least the galley - Artie was feeling chipper again. He fired up the range, then brought eggs and cheese out of the icebox. And at this point Jim came and lounged against the door frame. "Do you happen to remember, Artie," he said, "telling Anushche to 'go do that' for me? Then she asked if you meant she should kiss me, and you told her she could if she wanted."

Artie looked back from raiding the spice rack to see a small and teasing smile on his buddy's face. Warily, Artie replied, "Well… vaguely…"

Jim settled himself more comfortably against the door frame and folded his arms. "Well, as it turns out, the little lady's never been kissed before. At least she's never kissed anyone male who wasn't a member of her family, or her godfather, or her _djenko_."

Artie looked at Jim sidelong. "And you're telling me this why?"

"Thought you might be interested." Jim held the teasing look just a bit longer before adding, "And she was too shy to kiss me either. So she held my hand until I was fully healed."

"Ah," said Artie. "Hot date, huh?"

Jim grinned. "So. Explain this _djenko_ business. Where did all that come from?"

Artie rinsed the shallots and mushrooms, then spread them on the chopping board. "Ah. That goes back to an event roughly three centuries ago. It seems the royal family of Pterovnia had dwindled until there remained only the king himself and his young granddaughter, the Princess Katjenje."

"So that's a name! I thought you said it was a word meaning 'almost-daughter.' "

"That's the connotation it's come to have."

"Let me guess: it's Pterovnian for Katherine?"

"Oh very good, James! We'll make a linguist of you yet." Artie tested the skillet, decided it was hot enough, and dropped in some butter.

"Now," he said, "it came about that the old king died, leaving the young princess - not quite the age of our Anushche - to ascend the throne. And almost immediately the poor kid was besieged with suitors. And I mean literally! Young men from the various noble houses of Pterovnia, as well as some from the royal and noble houses of the neighboring nations: all these poured into the capital and surrounded the palace, each man hoping the princess would choose him as her consort, which would, of course, make him king." He added the chopped vegetables to the hot pan and began sautéing them. "And so as Katjenje was hemmed in on every side, to her rescue came her godfather."

"Enter the _djenko?_"

"Ah-ah-ah, James, don't get ahead of the story! Her godfather," Artie went on, "whisked her away from the capital and took her to his own castle out in the countryside. And no sooner did he have her within the castle walls with the portcullis rung down, than he informed her that she would now choose one of his sons for her consort. And she must choose quickly too, as she would not be permitted even a bite of food until she had acquiesced."

"Oh, nice fellow," said Jim. "Strike him from the _djenko_ list."

"Well, what could the poor girl do but give in? And so in the process of time an exquisite wedding gown was fashioned for her, and she was provided with a fine carriage to carry her back to the capital for the wedding, along with a cadre of a dozen cavaliers, purportedly to defend her, but really to keep her from disappearing on the trip."

Artie paused and shot a roguish glance Jim's way. "I suppose you can guess what happened next…"

"**Now** the _djenko_ shows up."

"Mm-hmm. Midway along the journey another group of a dozen knights beset the first group, drawing them into a fierce fight. And when the scuffle was over and the second group withdrew, the first group found the princess had vanished, carriage and all."

Artie finished with the first omelet and removed it to a plate, quickly covering it. "The carriage bore her away to yet another castle, where the driver threw off his hood and wig and peeled away false whiskers to reveal himself to her as a man who had been an old and dear friend of her grandfather the late king."

"And his name was Djenko."

"Right." Artie was now busy at work on the second omelet. "The rest of the story, in brief, is that Djenko took Katjenje in and became her protector, advisor, mentor. Prime Minister in effect, although that title and office is not known in Pterovnia. Later, after she married and had children of her own, Katjenje initiated the custom of the royal daughters each choosing some trusted older friend of the family to act in her best interest. And eventually, as these things do, the custom was taken up by the noble families, and finally all families."

"I see. So what's the English version of Djenko?"

Artie covered the second omelet and commenced the third. "Funny thing that, James. As it happens, the name Djenko translates into English as.."

"James."

Oh! Both men turned as the galley door into the corridor swung open and Anushche walked in. Jim had obviously made her the loan of a nightshirt and dressing gown, both of which were too big on her. She came over and wrapped her arms around Artie's middle. "Good morning, Artemus," she said.

"_Tansha mjana, droshinje_," he responded, laying a kiss on the top of her head, making sure the contact was well insulated by her hair.

She moved to Jim next and gave him a hug as well. "Good morning, James."

"Anushche," he replied, "were you listening at the door long?"

"Long enough." Smiling at Artie, she said, "You tell the story well."

"Thank you, thank you," he answered, turning from the range to transfer the final omelet to the final plate. "And… _voilà!_ Breakfast is ready. James, if you would lead the way?"

Each took a plate into the dining area, and while Jim held Anushche's chair for her, Artie fetched coffee cups and silverware to finish laying the table, then poured the coffee for their guest and himself, also refreshing Jim's. A relaxed meal ensued, with leisurely and inconsequential conversation.

At length Artie rose and cleared most of the table, then poured more coffee all around before returning to his seat and giving Jim a look that said he was ready. Jim nodded, then turned to the girl and explained to her about the telegram he had sent to Washington. "In the meantime," he said, "considering that we will almost certainly be sent back after Irenje, we need to know as much as possible about what was done to the pair of you. And so, Anushche, I need you to tell us about the chairs."

She shrank back, glancing from Jim to Artie. "No," she whispered. "Please! I do not wish to talk about the chairs!"

"Anushche, I'm sorry to ask you this, but it is necessary that we know..."

She turned away from Jim and cast pleading eyes at Artie. "Artemus, please!"

"_Droshche_, we wouldn't ask if it weren't crucial." He laid his hand over hers, flinched, but smiled determinedly. "Do what James asks of you, _katjenje_," he added. He patted her hand, then let go.

"Are… are you sure?"

"Anushche," said Jim, drawing her attention to himself again, "you know that Artemus and I are your friends. We want to help you. But to do that, we need to understand what was done to you and to your sister. Do you see?"

Slowly she nodded.

"Now, the machine had two chairs. You sat in one chair, and she in the other?"

Nod.

"And then what happened?"

"They… they strapped down our wrists and ankles, and put what looked like crowns with wires all over them onto our heads."

"All right. Go on."

She frowned. "There… there was some sort of switch that turned the machine on, and then lights and noise." She fell silent and shuddered, then whispered brokenly, "Please… It, it hurt. As if I would die, it hurt."

Artie's hand covered hers again, a napkin to prevent full contact. And Jim said, "Go on when you're ready."

She nodded, head down, eyes closed, willing herself past the worst of the memory. At last she said, "Finally the lights and noise stopped, and then Professor Smiler made us put on the gloves. At that point I was led away and locked up."

"Did he have you touch anything?"

"Not then. Later. A rabbit was brought to me, lying in a heap in the bottom of its cage. He said to touch it, and then it got up and hopped about."

"I see. Anushche, this is what I think happened. I think Professor Smiler's chairs somehow gave to your sister and you the ability to remove life or restore it with a touch. She kills; you heal. Right, Artie?"

"That's how I see it."

"But… but that is terrible! Why should he want to do such a thing?"

"From what Smiler and Matilda were saying," said Jim, "for revenge."

"Revenge? But on whom?"

"Apparently the men of some committee turned down Smiler for some honor. And, like all thwarted evil geniuses, he wanted to teach them a lesson."

"Where have I ever heard that before?" Artie muttered.

"But… why would Irenje go along with this? Killing people? She would never… She would…" Her voice trailed off as realization hit her. "No. Oh, no!" Anushche looked up at the two men, at Artemus and at James. "She… It was she…? The kiss-mark on dear Dr Rodin's cheek?"

Grimly, both men nodded.

Miss Anushche's hand came up and covered her own cheek. "But… she kissed me too! She wanted to…?" Horror filled her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Anushche," said Artie.

"But why? She's my sister! I would do anything for her!"

"I don't know why, _droshche_," he replied quietly.

"But…" The poor kid dropped her face into her hands and began to weep.

Artie pulled her close and held her, pressing again a kiss into her hair, patting her shoulder, murmuring to her in her native tongue while she used a napkin to staunch her tears. She raised her head at last, blinking back the last of the tears, said to Artie, "_Kedurshte djo, djenko mujo_." Then she turned to Jim and asked, "What do we do now?"

"**We**," and he pointed at Artie and himself, "wait for instructions from Washington. You, young lady…"

"…should think about getting dressed," Artie finished for him.

"Dressed! But," she shook her head, "I haven't any clean clothes."

"Oh ye of little faith!" said Artie, getting to his feet and gesturing toward the corridor. "Come and see, _droshinje muje_." Curious, she followed him along the corridor and across to the baggage car where he dramatically flung open the door for her. And she gasped.

It wasn't the pair of stalls to the left, occupied by the pair of horses. It wasn't the laboratory equipment to the right, nor the collection of plaster life-masks on the walls, nor the surrendering arms jutting up from the floor, nor the framed felt square boasting a couple of dozen examples of phony facial hair. No, what drew Anushche's attention and elicited the gasp was the impressive display of luggage and boxes, piles and piles of them, all monogrammed with the letter Z.

"Our things!" she squealed in delight. "How capital!" She clapped her hands, then threw her arms round Artie's neck and kissed his cheek.

"Ah!" He swayed, then chuckled. "Anushche, _droshinje_, it's better if you don't do that."

She leaned back, eyes wide. "But why not, _djenko mujo?_ And why," she added, "why did you drape that napkin over my hand earlier? I thought you were not afraid of touching me."

"Afraid, no. But we have to be practical about things, _droshinje_. How would I be able to do my job if we had a repeat of last night? Touch you too long, and I wind up passed out drunk on the floor!"

"Ah," she said, and not without a certain amount of disappointment. But then the delight of having fresh clothing restored her happy demeanor. "But tell me, Artemus _droshtafko_, how did our things come to be here?"

"Simple. When James and I pulled into the station yesterday, just before we met with Dr Rodin, we spoke to the station master, and when he mentioned that he had your luggage in storage at the station, we asked him to load it all into our baggage car." He waved a hand at the profusion of cases. "Go find something to wear. That is, ah, but don't take very long about it, please."

She crinkled her nose at him, then went poking through the piles. "This one. This has some of my more practical clothing in it, but it's at the bottom of the stack. If you would…?"

Artie came over and moved things about for her. She dimpled a Thank you at him, then fumbled at the closure. "Oh!"

"Problem?"

"_Dasda!_ It is locked! And… and…" She looked at him and threw a hand over her mouth, then whispered, "Oh! And Dr Rodin had the keys!"

"Allow me," said Artie. He crossed into the lab area, produced a finger-long bit of metal from one of the drawers, returned to the case and deftly popped the lock for her. "There you go, _droshche_. Enjoy."

She thanked him and began happily pulling out garments, holding them up against herself, making up her mind. While she was thus occupied, Artie went over to see about the horses.

The door opened and Jim came in. "Artie."

"Hmm?"

Jim was holding out a copy of the local newspaper. Artie took it and read the headline above the fold: Three Prominent Local Scientists Found Dead. Jim then pointed out a curious detail given in the second paragraph of the article.

Artie whistled softly. "Print of a kiss on each dead man's cheek, hmm? Looks like…" He glanced at Anushche and fell silent.

Jim nodded. "Someone's been busy overnight." He rolled up the newspaper and passed it to Artie. "I'm going to go see what else I can find out about these murders. You stay here and…"

"Stay? I thought we weren't doing the 'Artie waits on the siding' scenario anymore!"

"Usually, no. But someone needs to be here to take the message when the orders come in from Washington."

"Oh. Right."

"And besides, Artie. At least this time you'll have company."

"True." He glanced at Anushche and added, "And very pleasant company at that."

Jim gave him a thump on the shoulder, then saddled up his horse while Artie opened the side door for him and let down the ramp. Anushche watched all this with interest. Then, as Jim led the stallion down the ramp, she called out something in Pterovnian that he was sure included the word _djenko_.

"What was that?" he asked.

She grinned. "I was only saying, 'Good-bye, James.'"

Jim's eyes slid to Artie. He was rubbing at the back of his neck, smirking a bit. "Well, that is what she said. Except that verbatim it was, '_Atuchejnte djo, Djenko_.' "

"I thought you were her _djenko_, Artie."

"Oh, I am, I am. But you're everyone's _djenko_. You see, you asked me earlier what the name Djenko becomes in English, and as I was about to answer, Anushche interrupted. Well… it means James." Artie grinned and waved. "_Atuchejnte djo, Djenko!_"

Jim gave him a long look, then mounted the horse and rode off.

* * *

As he rode back to the Wanderer, James West could only conclude that it had all been essentially a wasted trip. He had gone to see both the coroner and the chief of police. The coroner had only assured him that, as he had found no obvious causes of death for any of the men, it must certainly have been natural causes in all three cases. The lip-prints? Bah - coincidence! No doubt whoever found them had kissed them for reasons of sentiment.

As for the police chief, he had taken one look at West's Federal identification and launched into an impassioned tirade against Washington interfering in local matters, as well as against carpetbaggers and Yankees in general. And Jim, in recalling that interview now, magnanimously edited out the bulk of the chief's more colorful adjectives.

The chief, plainly, was of no mind to either accept help or offer it. The only bit of information West had gleaned at all was from the coroner, who had acknowledged that the deceased trio had comprised a committee which had recently awarded a $10,000 prize to a local inventor. That, and the fact that a certain Angus Smiler had a minor reputation in the Atlanta environs for being a crackpot.

Jim rode up to the train, tied the stallion to the railing of the rear platform and entered the varnish car. "Artie?" he called as he came in, "did we get that mess…?"

Mess was the word for it. Most of the chairs were overturned, books everywhere, the desk lamp smashed. And lying in a heap in the middle of the floor was…

"Artie!"

~~~ **FREEZE FRAME **~~~

**End of Act 3**

* * *

The link to the drawing I made for the Freeze Frame at the end of Act 3 in on my profile page.**  
**


	5. Act 4

**Act 4 ~~~~**

Jim knelt by his partner's side and checked for a pulse - good and strong. He patted his cheeks, calling out his name until at last Artie groaned, then sat up.

"Now, Artie, what were you doing lying in the middle of the floor?" Jim asked, adding lightly, "Don't tell me you were kissing Miss Anushche again."

"Miss… Anu…" Artie started and looked all around, then groaned once more. "They got her, Jim!"

"They," said Jim, all business now. "And by that, you mean…?"

Artie nodded. "Lou and Herk." He ran a hand over his face and went on. "Anushche had gone into your stateroom to get dressed, so I came on in here to wait for the message. A few minutes later, I heard her shriek and then she came tearing in from the corridor. Lou was right behind her, and, well… If you ever want to know what it feels like to get shot with that prong gun, I can now fill you in from personal experience: **No** fun. The last thing I remember before I passed out is Herk coming in as well, and…" He glanced round the room. "Say, Anushche must have put up a pretty good fight, huh?"

"Where do you suppose they've taken her?"

Artie shrugged. "First place I'd check is back at Professor Smiler's house in that little podunk town."

Jim nodded. "I'll tell Orrin, and take care of my horse."

"Right," said Artie. "And I'll tell Washington, and start taking care of this mess."

.

Orrin poured on the steam and got them back to the little town as fast as possible, almost as fast as they'd made the opposite run the night before. Once Jim and Artie had set the parlor to rights, they spent the rest of the journey making plans and, on Artie's part, making his disguise.

And now they had arrived. Artie, blond, extravagantly mustachioed, and engulfed in an Inverness cape, strode alongside Jim as they passed through the rail yard and entered the depot itself. As they hurried across the waiting room toward the front door, a voice suddenly rang out, exclaiming, "_Mais ce n'est pas acceptable! Où est notre bagage?_"

Artie stopped dead in his tracks, catching Jim by the arm. Together they turned to see the station manager trying to deal with a small foreigner who was waving his arms, too angry to speak in any language but his native French. An exceedingly familiar foreigner. His voice failing him for a second, Artie called out, "_Mon… monsieur le docteur_ Rodin?"

"_Oui?_" said the little fellow, turning at the sound of his name. A moment later his face brightened. "M West!" he said gleefully. "How good to see you again! And you have a new companion, _n'est-ce pas?_" He shook hands heartily with both men.

"But, Dr Rodin, how is it you are here?" said West.

He shrugged. "I am checking to ensure _les bagages_ which I was forced to entrust to the care of the station are well kept. _Mais bien sûr_, they are not, for they have disappeared!"

"Not disappeared," said Artie. "It's all on our train now."

"On your…" Dr Rodin took a closer look at the blond man, his hand reaching automatically for the pince-nez glasses he no longer had. "Euh! My vision is not the best, _mais_… M Gordon? This is you? You look so different! I did not recognize you."

"Good. But, Dr Rodin, what happened? We, ah…"

"We thought you were dead," said West.

The little doctor nodded. "_Oui, c'est très étrange_ - very strange indeed." And he gave a description very much like Jim's, of having been touched by _Zernkje_ Irenje and knowing nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing, until the sensation of a kiss on the forehead and with it a prodigious influx of pure life. He had come to slowly and then found his way out of that horrible house by means of a broken window to return to his hotel room, greatly confused.

"_Et les jeunes dames_, where are they?" he asked at last.

"We're on our way to get them right now," said West.

"Yes," added Gordon. "You, ah… didn't want to come along, did you?"

Rodin's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "_Non, non, messieurs_, indeed not! I have, how you say, learned my lesson. I will await quietly in my room _à l'hôtel_."

"Excellent choice, _M le docteur. A bientôt_." And the agents moved on.

.

The plan was straightforward enough: Artie in his disguise would go to the front door and cause a disturbance, distracting the household for Jim to let himself in round the back. And after that - well, who knew?

West and Gordon parted ways at the corner of the alley that led around to the rear, and Artie strode on toward the veranda and mounted the steps. The window alongside the door, he noted, had been boarded over and the shards of glass cleared away. Stepping up to the door, he rapped smartly, adjusted his clothing, brushed at his whiskers, and waited.

No one answered. Well, it was a big house. And with Matilda injured, who would be assigned to get the door? Under ordinary circumstances, he would wait patiently a bit longer, but as his job today was to raise a ruckus, he knocked again, louder than the first time, and also cleared his throat and called out stentoriously, "Halloo! I say, halloo therre!"

The door at last opened, but only by a few inches, just enough for half a face to peer out at him. And of all people, it was Matilda answering the door after all! "Yeah?" she said, sounding not at all happy.

Artie harrumphed and put on his best Scottish burr. He had, early on in designing this disguise, considered calling himself Alonso P Farnsworth - yes, considered it for all of five seconds! But the name and persona he had at last settled on was:

"Seamus Alistairr Campbell, dearr lady, of the _Edinburgh Times_." He doffed his hat politely and went on, "I've come herre to yourr fairr countrry to wrrite a serries of arrticles forr the _Times_ aboot inventorrs in this land of opporrtunity, and one of the names I was given was that of Prrofessorr Angus Smilerr. Och, a fine name, Angus! I should like to interrview the prrofessorr, if I may?"

Matilda stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head. "The professor don't wanna be disturbed," she said and began to close the door.

"Oh but Madame!" the stranger insisted, stopping the door with his foot. " 'Tis forr posterrity! My carrd." He produced a calling card and held it out to her. "If I might set up an appointment forr the interrview?"

Again she gave him a long look. He smiled at her genially, hopefully, as he awaited her decision. Had she penetrated his disguise?

"Hmm," she said at last. "Oh, I s'pose so. You can come on in and wait here - right here! - while I go see what Angus has to say about it."

With one hand she took the card from him while with the other she opened the door wide enough to let him in. And Artie had to hide his surprise. Matilda was using both arms! How was that possi…?

Aha. Then Anushche _was_ here. How else to explain Matilda's arm being healed so quickly after suffering such a severe injury only the day before?

The woman pointed at a chair and ordered him, "You sit yerself there. I ain't gonna be long." And she shuffled off in her house slippers down the corridor that led to the lab.

As soon as she was out of sight, Artie sprang up from the seat, reached inside the Inverness cape, and pulled out a little brightly painted device with a key on top. He wound up the key, set the timer, and deposited the device behind the sofa. He took out a second device, got it ready, and placed it under a table, then set a third device behind the curtain of the broken window.

That should be enough for this room. He picked a doorway other than the one Matilda had left by and continued on, one room or hallway after another, leaving a trail of little wind-up mechanisms in his wake, until…

"Herk! Lou!" Matilda's voice called out urgently at some distance. "I let a stranger into this house, and he done disappeared. Find 'im!"

Quickly Artie set the last device and ducked into the next room, where he stripped off his cape to expose the well-used white lab coat he was wearing underneath. He shed his blond wig and whiskers as well, and from a pocket of the lab coat whipped out a gray wig and donned it. He then produced heavy black gloves and protective safety goggles such as Professor Smiler had been wearing the day before.

In a matter of moments, a ringer for the real professor stepped out into a hallway and began roaming through the house, softly muttering to himself the tail end of a countdown: "… two… one…"

ZZZZZOWWW! Every little noise-maker he'd strewn throughout the house went off all at once as he hurried to leave the sounds behind him. Matilda, Lou, and Herk went racing about like so many chickens with their heads cut off, trying to figure out what was happening. Smiler in his lab came to the door and peered out scowlingly, while somewhere in the house… Oh, somewhere, somewhere were the pair of young sisters. But where?

.

Jim was ready when the ruckus commenced, and in moments he had the back door open and was up the stairs heading for the amphitheater. He slipped through that door and into the shadows at the top of the stands, then listened. The noises from Artie's little toys were winding down already; much closer than that, Jim could hear Angus Smiler soliloquizing again: "Interruptions! Always interruptions! First that ridiculous reporter and now thi… Ridiculous reporter! Drat and blast, of course! He's not a reporter; he's one of those bothersome busybodies from yesterday! Mat…!"

But he didn't finish calling out his sister's name. A hand slipped over his mouth just then, a second hand finding a certain point along the professor's throat and applying quiet pressure.

Smiler slumped, unconscious, and James West lugged him up into a dark corner of the stands where he handcuffed the scientist to something suitably large and heavy.

One down. West hurried to the group of lab tables and confiscated the prong gun, then went back upstairs, leaving the lower level for Artie to search.

For a few moments after Mr West had gone, the lab was silent and still. And then from the shadows a figure stirred. "Hmm!" said a purring feminine voice. "So he is restored! My sister's doing, no doubt. Well, I will simply have to see to him all over again. But first…"

And the shadowy figure crossed to another part of the amphitheater, to the place where a white-coated old man lay sprawled and oblivious, helplessly manacled to an immovable piece of equipment.

.

Why is it, Artie was wondering, that the lairs of evil villains tend to resemble warrens? or dungeons? He could imagine turning this into a game - wandering through hallway after hallway, checking room after room, looking for (as he was) confined captives, or perhaps - oh - treasure? Or useful items, such as weapons. For just a moment his creative genius threatened to carry him away.

If only it were just a game. If only real lives weren't at stake. Artie hurried on, door to door and hallway to hallway, searching fruitlessly for the sisters.

"Hey, Professor!"

For a second Artie nearly forgot that he was the professor now. Recovering quickly, he turned, tilted his chin up, and said in his best imitation of Smiler's imperious tones, "What do you want?"

Ah, it was Lou! Artie opened his mouth, his mind racing to phrase a question about the girls that would gain him information about their whereabouts without tipped Lou off that he wasn't Smiler after all. But before he could speak up, Lou started talking: "Oh, um, sorry to disturb you, Professor. We ain't found the guy yet. He scattered a whole bunch of these things all over the place." Lou held out one of the wind-up devices.

"Ah. Hmm," said the fake professor, accepting the little toy from Lou's hand. "Curious item," Artie went on. "It seems to… why, look at this!"

"Huh? What?"

"This here! Do you see? There seems to be a button here." Artie showed the device to Lou, putting it up close to the man's face, then pressed the button.

FWHOOSH! Magenta smoke erupted from the device, enveloping Lou's head. Artie held the item out at arm's length, then dropped it, using his handkerchief to cover his own mouth and nose while poor old Lou crumpled to the floor. Artie waited a bit for the smoke to diffuse, then quipped, "Well, it's not Tolstoy, but close enough." He pulled out some manacles to cuff Lou's hands behind his back. "There!" he said. "Now we won't have you shoving into the middle of things the way you did yesterday. Pity I didn't get a chance to ask you about the girls, though." Artie opened the nearest door and rolled the fellow out of sight. Then, satisfied, he closed the door and left Lou to his slumbers as he continued on searching for the Ambassador's daughters.

If he had only known! Furtive as a cat, one of the sisters crept after him, pausing long enough to open the door Artie had just closed to step inside and give Lou one last kiss.

.

Matilda stormed into the lab in a fury, house slippers slapping angrily against the floor. "Angus!" she groused. "That durn foreigner's still runnin' loose somewhere inside this house! He cain't've gone back outside, 'cause I locked 'im in when I let 'im in, but he… Angus?" She paused, listening to the silence. "Angus, where'd you go?" She listened again. Nothing. Her shoulders dropped in consternation. "Where in the Sam Hill…?" she muttered. "Cain't never see nothin' in this big ol' barn of a room!" She crossed to one of the lab tables and rummaged for a bit. "Ah!"

Taking up the oddly-built lantern she'd found, she lit it from one of the lab burners, then snapped the lid shut. The specially ground lens of the lantern's face combined with the multitude of precisely angled mirrors within it to blast a powerful focused beam of light out the front. Matilda played the light all over the room: behind the tables, up and down each stairway, all along the amphitheater stands…

"Angus!" She almost dropped the lantern when she saw him. He was huddled up, his hands manacled, his face pale and still. Matilda kicked off the house slippers and charged puffing up the stairs to reach him.

Cold. He was cold already. Gently she set the lantern down on the closest seat and cradled her daft baby brother close. "Oh, Angus…"

And then she had a thought. "If that girl could fix my arm the way she did jes' by holdin' my hand, maybe… maybe she can do something fer Angus too." Swiftly she checked the dead man's pockets, coming up with a key. "This's gotta be where he put 'er, 'cause he took this key offa my ring 'fore he went an' locked 'er up." She clambered back to her feet and hurried from the room, muttering to herself, "I jes' hope I ain't too late."

.

The trembling of the floor was the giveaway that Herk was coming. West checked to be sure the prong gun was fully wound up and ready to fire, then aimed it down the hall toward the corner that the localized earthquake was coming from and waited.

The behemoth appeared from round the corner, his eyes lighting up when he spotted the agent. "Dere you are, little man! You know what I'm gonna do wit' you? Time I get done wit' you, dere ain't gonna be enough o' you left to fill up yer shoe!"

"Where are the girls, Herk?" said West calmly.

"I'll use yer legs fer toot'picks," Herk boasted, tramping slowly up the hall, "an' yer head fer a hat rack…"

"Where are the two young ladies you helped kidnap, Herk?" asked West.

But the giant only continued with his recitation of just what he would do with the several severed parts of James West, his eyes glittering, his massive hands reaching. Herk licked his lips. "I'm gonna enjoy dis!" he promised.

"Irenje and Anushche, Herk. Where are they?"

Herk grinned broadly. "Yeah, I'm gonna enjoy every second…"

There was a subtle shift in Herk's center of gravity; he was about to charge.

West pulled the trigger.

The giant's eyes widened as the prong sailed toward him. He tried to change directions and dodge to the side, but his own bulk worked against him.

BRZAP! The prong caught him off-center in the chest, and down went Herk, flailing uncontrollably.

West waited till the big man was still, then wound up the gun again, shaking his head. "You couldn't just answer a simple question, now could you, Herk?" The agent cuffed the giant where he lay, knowing it would no doubt immobilize Herk for all of two seconds once he woke up. Then West continued on with his search.

.

Matilda reached the room this key was for and paused to listen at the door. She smiled; the voice inside was young, feminine, and angry, muttering along in a rich blend of English and some other language - five other languages, in fact, if the older woman had only known.

Matilda inserted the key into the lock, and the voice inside ceased. "I'm lettin' you out," the old woman called loudly. "That dang sister o' yers done somethin' to my brother, an' I need you to… Oof!"

As soon as the tumblers clicked over, the knob had turned from within, the door wrenching away from Matilda, pulling her off balance. And then the door slammed forward again and smacked into Matilda's head, knocking her down if not out. Anushche emerged and whispered a Pterovnian apology to the fallen woman. Then, getting her bearings, the girl ran off down the corridor in hot pursuit of an exit.

.

Artie, searching along yet another hallway in this endless building, heard a voice from very nearby saying, "I'm lettin' you out. That dang sister o' yers done somethin' to my brother, an' I need…" Aha, he thought, Matilda! And from the sound of it, she was talking to…

"Now I'm getting somewhere!" Artie told himself and hurried toward the sound of the voice. He jogged round the corner, looked around and, to his great surprise, saw no one at all at first. Where…?

Ah! A groan caught his attention. Matilda was crawling out of an open doorway, one hand on her head as she gradually sat herself up.

"Matilda!" Gordon rushed to the aid of the injured woman, checking her wound - negligible - and helping her to her feet. "What happened?" he said. "And where is Anushche?"

"Oh Angus!" cried Matilda, "I **tole** you it was a bad idea to fetch in them strange girls! Now one of 'em's done clobbered me, an' the other's killed…" She stared at him now, her eyes wide. "Why… killed **you!** You ain't Angus. Who are you?"

"Angus is dead? Where?"

"In his lab. I was gonna have the other one touch 'im back alive, but she done run off on me. Who are you?"

"Seamus Alistairr Campbell, of courrse, dearr lady. At yourr serrvice."

"You! You danged foreigner! We been turnin' this house upside-down lookin' fer you! Lou! Herk!"

"That's quite enough, Matilda," Artie responded, whipping his handkerchief over her mouth and tying it firmly. A moment later he had her cuffed, then led her into the room and settled her comfortably in the chair within. "And, by the way, Matilda, you're under arrest." He smiled at her, gave her a friendly salute, then closed her in, turning the key that Matilda herself had left in the lock.

"Well," Artie reflected, "Anushche was here just a few minutes ago. And she didn't come in my direction, so she must have gone this way instead." And he set off in hopes of finding his _katjenje_ shortly.

.

This time the localized earthquake overtook James West before he had time to prepare. He pivoted, bringing the prong gun up to aim it.

Herk's huge hand lashed out and sent the weapon spinning down the hall. His other hand grasped for West's throat, and the agent just barely managed to twist away in time.

And so began again West's deadly dance of backing down a hallway keeping out of Herk's reach. A quick glance behind him gave Jim the layout of the corridor: three rooms on one side, four on the other, all doors closed; a corner off to the left on the side with the three doors; and there at the end of the hall, just below the window, there lay the prong gun where it had come to rest at the end of a decorative rug.

"Where are the girls, Herk?" asked West.

"What diff'rence dat gonna make to you, little man? You gonna be dead!" Herk spread his arms and lunged for West, and received a chop to the neck for his trouble.

"Is Anushche locked up? Where is she?"

"Fee fie foe fum," intoned Herk, slowly advancing on West.

"And Irenje. Is she roaming free as she was before?"

"I smell da blood of a…" Herk paused, considering. This man wasn't English! And then he grinned. "…da blood of a **little** man!"

West dodged another lunge, darted in and boxed Herk's ears, then leapt back once more.

"Be he alive or be he dead - and you gonna be dead in a minute, little man!"

"Herk," said West, "just tell me where the girls are."

"I'll grind his bones to make my… Hey!"

For West had suddenly turned and sprinted down the hall, racing for the prong gun tucked up against the wall below the window. Herk pounded after him as fast as he could go, hands outstretched to engulf the smaller man, to crush him.

At the last moment, instead of stooping for the gun, West kicked it sideways down the connecting hallway, then ran round the corner to pick it up. Herk tried to turn as well to follow the agent.

But his feet skidded on the loose rug. Herk gaped, flailing, trying to stop as his momentum carried him into and on through the upper-story window. Glittering slivers of glass surrounded him like a cloud, floating down around him to meet the up-rushing terrain.

With a massive THUD Herk measured his length on the ground. And yet, after only a few seconds, his hands moved, bracing themselves under him. He pushed, levering himself up, only to collapse once more flat on his face and lay still.

West stood looking down through the hole in the wall that had once been the window and shook his head. "And you still couldn't just answer that simple question for me, could you?"

A scream interrupted him, a terrified "No!" that abruptly cut off dead. It had come from… yes, from downstairs. Instantly James took off running to find the nearest staircase.

.

As Jim rounded the corner from one direction, Artie came tearing up the corridor from the other. They met before an open door. "I left this door locked!" Artie exclaimed as the pair of them entered.

It was not a pretty sight. Matilda, eyes staring, was on the floor beside the chair, her arms still cuffed behind her, the handkerchief pulled down around her neck, and on her cheek, as if smirking at them…

"A kiss print," said Jim.

Artie nodded. "Irenje. She got Smiler too. Matilda told me she found him in his lab, dead. She came here to fetch Anushche to restore him, but the girl got away from her."

"So we have both twins running loose in the house."

"Right, Jim."

"Let's go find them then." West headed out to the corridor. "I'll take this direction."

Artie nodded. "Just be careful, James my boy. Irenje is vicious. And I don't want to have to break in a new partner, you know."

"Neither do I, Artie, neither do I." Jim brandished the prong gun and the pair split up.

.

Letting slip a naughty word in Pterovnian that she wasn't supposed to know, Anushche stared at a door that should open to the outside but wouldn't, rattled the knob once more fruitlessly, then gave the door a petulant kick. Ow!

"Is there no door in this perishing house that will let me out?" she protested. Choosing a new direction, she continued on seeking a door to freedom.

.

There was no point, Jim reasoned, in going back upstairs. Irenje had obviously been busy down here, and Anushche, no doubt, was trying to escape this house, and why would she go upstairs to do that? Prong gun in hand, West listened carefully as he rapidly searched the halls, ignoring the rooms for now. Somewhere…

He paused, his ears picking up the sound of footfalls. High heels, therefore a woman. He hurried to the corner and peered round it.

Yes! There was one of the twins. But which one? Aiming the prong gun, West stepped into the hallway and ordered her, "Stop right there!"

.

Artie found himself in the corridor from which he had originally rescued Anushche. Yes, this was the room, the lock still unrepaired and useless. He moved on, cautiously rounded the corner and headed down the long corridor with the outside door midway along its length, trying the door in passing. It was locked. He kept going.

Now he arrived at the other corner, entered that hall, and looked around. No one. Hmm.

Artie paused for a bit in the middle of the hallway, giving this some thought, his forefinger tapping against his nose. Where to now? Up the stairs? Into the room to the right where Matilda had herded them the day before? Or maybe…

Wait - there was a sound! Artie sprang toward the study and shoved the door open. There, across the room, beyond the desk, there stood one of the twins. But which one? Pointing his black-gloved hand at her, Gordon ordered her, "Stay right where you are!"

.

The girl Jim was covering with the prong gun swung to face him. She stared for a moment, then exclaimed with a beatific grin, "James!"

"Don't move," he commanded.

"But, but, James! Do you not know me? It is I, Anushche!"

The gun in West's hand never wavered. "If you really are Anushche, show me your neck under your right ear!"

.

The girl in the study stared at the man confronting her. "Professor Smiler?" she said at last, sounding dubious.

Artemus yanked off the gray wig and the goggles.

"Oh, it is **you!**" the girl exclaimed. "How capital!" and she clapped her ungloved hands. "Come!" she said. "Take me away out of this house at once!" And she started around the desk toward him.

"Hold it right there!" Gordon commanded.

"But, but it is I, Anushche." She looked up at him with large and innocent eyes.

"Not another step," said Gordon. "Not until you show me that there's no birthmark on your neck under your right ear."

.

The twin in front of James tilted her head to let him see.

.

The twin in front of Artie slammed her hand over the side of her neck and, with a snarl, launched herself at him.

.

"You believe me now, James?" said this twin.

West nodded and put away the prong gun. "Yes, Anushche. I believe you."

"Capital!" said she. "And now you will take me away from here?"

"Not just yet," said Jim. "First I need you to undo a few things your sister has been up to." And he led her back to the room where he'd last seen Matilda.

.

Artie grabbed Irenje's wrists as she sprang at him, glad that his disguise as Professor Smiler had included the thick heavy gloves. Irenje fought him like a wildcat: hissing, spitting, kicking, attempting to bite. Artie, without releasing his grip, spun her around while bringing his hands up and over her head, then down again so that he ended up with the hellion wrapped up in his arms with her back against his chest. "There!" he said. "Now just calm down, _Zernkje_, and come along quietly. It's all over now and… Ow!"

She had stamped her high-heeled foot down hard on his instep, breaking both his concentration and his grip. She whirled on him, one hand sweeping out to slap his cheek. He just barely got his own hand up to block the blow, then beat a hasty tactical retreat, quickly getting the desk between the two of them.

"Now now, _Zernkje_ Irenje! You don't really want to kill me!" said Artie.

She glowered at him with eyes like fire. "_Tuvnjeko!_" she snapped. "How dare you presume to tell me what I do or do not want!"

"All right, change of pronoun then: _**I**_ don't really want you to kill me. I'm rather fond of breathing," he added with a disarming lop-sided grin. "Call it a habit, but it's one I'd prefer not to give up."

She scoffed.

"Well, why would you want to kill me? Why would you want to kill anybody?"

She leaned toward him, her eyes blazing. "Fool! Have you no eyes? Do you not see? All my life I have longed for power and had none. But now, now, I have power!"

"You are _Zernkje_ Irenje Zelnurmofje, heir of a noble family in Pterovnia, godchild to the King. You have no power?"

Again she scoffed. "What, do you imagine my father has power, and that as his heir I will wield the power that once was his? He is but a servant to power; he has none of his own! I have no interest in the sort of life he leads, that he thinks to pass on to me. That is not power! But this!" She swiped her hand at Gordon, causing him to flinch back. "This is power in its rawest form. I need only touch what is living, and no longer is it living. The power of a king and all his armies, his judges and executioners, all embodied in me!" Her eyes, her whole face and being were lit up with the exultation of what she could do.

And then she scowled. "But you! You, and your partner, as well as that idiot professor and all his people, you know what I can do, and you would stop me. The professor - I overheard him! Now that I have taken his revenge for him on those three fools, the ones I kissed last night, he was plotting to take the power away again, to return me to my former state. That I will not permit. And so…" She smiled her feral smile now, her voice becoming the purr of a contented feline. "I kissed the professor, and his sister, and the small one Lou. I have a kiss reserved for the giant as well, but have not found him to bestow it as yet. And along with them, you. And your partner. You wish to stand in my way, to stop me; you will not."

"And your sister?" Artemus asked softly, already knowing the answer.

"She above all I hate! She, with her doe's eyes and her simpering ways. She whom the fools of men fawn over. She whom our father and mother adore, whom Dr Rodin adored. And you adore her too, more the fool you. She above all I would kiss and destroy. But over her my power has no effect!"

She glanced at the agent across the desk from her, the purr returning to her voice. "But that is no matter. Some other way. A dash of one of the professor's chemicals added to her food, or a little push at the top of the stairs. And I will be rid of her as well, and will go forth conquering and to conquer."

Artie's eyebrows shot up. "Ah, is that who you imagine yourself to be, the rider on the white horse? Wouldn't the pale horse be more apropos?"

Her eyes narrowed and she took another swipe at him which he dodged. And looking at her, he shook his head regretfully. "Poor Irenje. You just don't understand, do you?"

"Do not pity me!" she growled at him savagely.

"But what else is there to feel toward you? You think in dealing out death, you have the ultimate power. But…" And now he quoted, his voice flowing as if on the stage:

" '… _love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave…  
Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it…' "_

Irenje glowered. "Whatever are you babbling about?"

"It isn't your sister's doe's eyes that cause her to be adored. You have the same looks as she: eyes and face and form and figure. It's what is inside her that others adore. Her heart. She has a loving heart, and you hate. It's no wonder that what Smiler did to you two worked out this way. Hate kills, but love gives life. That's why, after you had kissed Dr Rodin to death, Anushche knelt over him and kissed his forehead…" His voice dropped dramatically. "…and she restored him to life."

"What?" Irenje objected vehemently. "_Njede!_ No! That is not possible!"

"I spoke to the man myself this morning. You killed him, but she brought him back."

"I…" Irenje's eyes darted round the room. "I must stop her now. She will ruin everything! She must die immediately!" Suddenly her attention focused on the man before her once again. "But first, you!" And she came right over the top of the desk at him.

Artie batted her away with his gloved hands, trying to catch hold of her wrists as before. The woman was an untamed savage, flying at him again and again, making every effort to lay a hand, a finger on him. He fought back, knowing that if once she touched him skin-to-skin, he was dead. Literally.

The room was gradually reduced to a shambles around them, the globe going over with a crash, and later, the grandfather clock as well. And still she kept coming after him, relentlessly, furiously, demoniacally. He had a small derringer hidden on him, but he didn't want to shoot her, as that action might well cause an international incident all on its own. He also had one of his ubiquitous smoke bombs; the thought of knocking her out with it held tremendous appeal, but she just wasn't giving him any breathing space to have time to pull it out and throw it.

And now she had him pinned against the desk, her hands everywhere, his countering them. He had no time to reach for anything to employ as a weapon against her; to do so would leave her an opening for one of her hands to dart in and touch him, paralyzing him as she had Jim, allowing her to then gloat over him at her leisure before administering the _coup de grâce_ of the kiss of oblivion.

Abruptly, with an even louder crash, the desk went over. Artie's head landed hard, stars springing up before his eyes. And in that fateful moment - everything froze.

Was his heart even beating? his lungs filling? He had no awareness of either. His body was numb. He had, contrariwise, perfect awareness of **her**. Irenje had landed on top of him and was now gazing down into his face, gleeful, joyful. Triumphant.

"Well! At last! You put up quite a fight. I'm frightfully winded. Perhaps I shall just sit in a chair for a bit to catch my breath. Wouldn't you care to do the same? No?" She laughed merrily. "No of course not; you have no breath! You are my toy now, to play with if I want, to break if I want. And rest assured, once I tire of speaking to this inert lump that is you, I shall break you. Perhaps now?" Her hand wandered toward his face, her fingers curving as if she would caress his cheek. She held that pose a long moment, then laughed and withdrew the hand. Next the fingers of her other hand loitered over his hair, lifting the stray curl that had been jarred forward across his forehead when he hit the floor. Again she laughed, then rose to her feet and slinked to a chair, righted it, and sank into the cushions.

"And now," she proclaimed, "it is I who pity you. Do you enjoy the feeling, the wretchedness of being the object of the pity of others? To have others look at you, with their eyes so, with the clucking of the tongue so." She demonstrated the look and action, then threw her head back with laughter once more.

And she's jealous that people prefer Anushche, thought Artie, his mind being the only part of him that was still fully functional. I can't even blink. How can I hinder her once she tires of celebrating her victory over me with mockery?

The laughter stopped. Irenje looked at him, sighed. "Well, it was fun while it lasted," said she. She rose from the chair, sauntered back to Artie's side, and stood over him for a long time. Then she chuckled and said, "I do hope _droshche_ Anushche is the one who finds you! Perhaps I shall lead her here, as I did to show her Dr Rodin. But this time, of course, I must kill her before she can bring you back. In fact… Yes! I like that! I shall lure her here to the study, show her you paralyzed and waiting for the death stroke. Then I shall kill her and afterwards you as well. Ah, and that partner of yours also." She chuckled. "Do wait right there," she said, then added. "As if you have any choice!"

Irenje turned toward the door to carry out her plan. Her hand was nearly on the handle when the door sprang open on its own. Two people were in the doorway: Irenje's beloved sister, and Artie's beloved partner.

"Artie!" cried the one and, "_Djenko!_" the other.

The next moment a cat fight exploded as Irenje attacked Anushche. In moments the twins were grappling together, Irenje's hands going after Anushche's throat, and Anushche doing all she could to defend herself, their struggles adding to the shambles that the previous fight had caused.

Jim ran to his partner and checked for his pulse. It was just barely there. "Hang in there, Artie," said Jim briskly. He looked over at the girls scuffling together. There was no point in trying to shoot Irenje with the prong gun as long as she was in contact with her sister; the electrical shock would no doubt harm them both. But he needed the life-giving twin over here to touch his partner back from this paralysis. So West called out, "Anushche! Artemus needs you."

Both girls paused and glanced at him, then one smacked the other hard across the face and rushed over. She was about to fling herself down at Artie's side when Jim suddenly aimed the prong gun at her.

"What?" she cried.

"Show me the ear," he responded.

"Ah!" She pulled her hair back - no birthmark. Jim nodded and was just making room for her when SMACK! Irenje landed on top of her sister, knocking her over. Smirking proudly, Irenje leaned over the supine Mr Gordon and resoundingly kissed him on the cheek.

For Artemus Gordon, the lights went out.

.

And then, Artie had no idea how long later, they came back on again. Anushche's hand was on his, the heavy glove gone, the familiar sensation of drowning ecstatically at the foot of a waterfall engulfing him, smashing into his brain, taking the top of his head off.

Suddenly his other glove was gone as well and another hand gripped his. The power flooding in from Anushche diverted now, slamming across him, in and down his left arm, crossing his chest, then up and out through the right. "Jim…" Artie croaked. This was unbearable! Not so much like being the rope in a Tug-of-War as being the wire in an electrical circuit. And the current was overloading…

I'm going to die, thought Artie.

A voice roared at him from somewhere far far away: Jim's voice. "Artie! Let go of Irenje's hand!"

"C… c… can't…" Artie managed. He was being torn apart. His heart would explode. He blinked, trying at least to see, to focus on his best friend's face one last time before the end.

For Jim, it was the same problem once more. Irenje was in contact with Artie, and for that reason he couldn't use the prong gun. And he couldn't touch the woman without winding up in the same condition as his partner…

Hmm… He couldn't touch her with his bare skin, no. But his feet weren't bare, were they?

Artie was sure now that the end was near, creeping up on him. And he couldn't see Jim. The phrase "flights of angels" floated across his fading consciousness.

There was a blur from Artie's left, in the color of Jim's clothing. And suddenly the hand was gone from Artie's right. There was only the power surging in from Anushche now, healing him, relieving the pain…

Irenje cursed heartily at Mr West. "How dare you kick me, you horrible man!" The air was blistered with Pterovnian expletives as Irenje gathered herself, intent on launching herself at that other interfering agent.

"I wouldn't," said West. Irenje snarled at him in contempt, seeing only too late the prong gun in his hand, aimed at her heart.

Jim fired.

.

Gradually Artie sat up and looked about him. Anushche was hovering at his side, no longer touching him, only peering into his face anxiously. He caught her eye and gave her a wink, eliciting a wide and relieved smile. She turned to Jim and said, "I think Artemus is - what is it you say? Oh-queue?"

"Ok."

"Ah, yes! Artemus is ok now, I believe."

Artie was taking in the scene, reconstructing in his head what must have happened. "Jim. You shot Irenje with the prong gun."

"Mm-hmm." Jim was roaming the room picking up the heavy gloves from where the two girls had flung them. He then pulled them on, flexing his fingers.

"Thanks, Jim," said Artie.

Jim grinned and gave a shrug. "It was my pleasure, old pal."

Artie turned now to Anushche. "And you. You brought me back. _Kedurshte dje, droshinje_."

She too smiled modestly. "It was my pleasure as well, _droshtafko_. Can you - are you able to stand now?"

Artie considered how his body felt after all that abuse. "Let's give it a shot."

She took his arm, careful to touch him only through his sleeve, and helped him upright. He stood a moment, taking internal inventory. No dizziness. The memory of pain was there, and of paralysis. But his body felt…

"Just like new!"

"Oh, capital!"

"Well, Jim," said Artie. "Now what?"

"Now, we finish this." Jim lifted the still unconscious Irenje and flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then led the way to the door he and Anushche had entered through. "We were just taking a revived Matilda to the lab for Anushche to take care of Smiler as well when we heard the commotion down here. Matilda should be there; she's still cuffed. Once Anushche gets the professor on his feet again… What?"

For Artie had clicked his fingers. "Lou! He needs to be brought back too. Come on, _katjenje_. Jim, we'll meet you in the lab."

"Right, Artie."

.

It was a somber group who were gathered in the lab. Matilda and Lou, both of them handcuffed, were glaring daggers at the unconscious Irenje where she sat slumped and strapped into one side of the illuminated machine of the chairs. While Artie kept guard over those prisoners, Jim led Anushche up into the stands to the side of the deceased Professor Smiler. The girl took a seat while Jim removed the cuffs that anchored the dead man in place. Once that was done, she put out her hand toward Smiler, then hesitated. "He has caused a great deal of grief to a great number of people," she said softly.

"True," Jim replied. "But now he is going to undo some of that grief. At least for you." He nodded encouragingly. "Go ahead and touch him."

"_Dasda, Djenko_."

He gave a brief chuckle and shook his head. "Just 'Jim' is fine."

"Yes, James." Anushche drew a deep breath and stretched out her hand.

It was a classic delayed reaction. After a few seconds of no response, Smiler's eyelids abruptly slammed open. He stared wide eyed at the deep darkness of the ceiling directly over his head as a range of expressions paraded over his face. Finally his eyes slid to the side, taking in first James West leaning over him, and at his side, the girl as well.

"Gaahhh!" Smiler screeched and clutched at West's arm. "Keep her away from me, man! Don't let her touch me! She… she'll kill me!"

"Not this one," West replied and pointed at the chair machine. "That's the one who wanted you dead. And she accomplished it too. This one, your 'insurance,' just brought you back."

Smiler was silent again for a long moment, taking all that in. "You…" He looked at the twin beside him with awestruck curiosity. "You did? You resurrected me?"

She nodded.

His face became crafty. "Why?"

"Because I told her to," said Jim. "Now…" and he caught Smiler by the arm and hauled him vertical. "…we are going to put both twins into the chairs, and you are going to show my partner how to reverse the process and give this young lady her life back." West paused, then added, "Consider it an expression of gratitude to her for not leaving you dead."

"I… That is… The other one - she can't get at me?"

"She's not even conscious. And she's well strapped in."

"Ah!" said Smiler briskly, beginning to sound like his usual arrogant self. "Well, to start with, if the plan is to restore the young ladies to their original states, that one is in the wrong seat. She'll have to be moved."

Jim made a sweeping gesture. "Be my guest."

"Me!" the old scientist squeaked. "Surely... surely you don't really expect…"

"I'll do it," Artie called up. He donned the heavy gloves and quickly got Irenje into the other seat and strapped in securely once more.

"Very well," said Smiler, not drawing near the machine until Artie was done. "And now the other young lady…"

Artie offered his gloved hand to Anushche and settled her into the seat. "Comfy?" he asked teasingly.

"You are sure this will work?" she asked nervously. "I will be again what I was before? And Irenje as well? We will be… normal?"

"As normal as you ever were," he replied, kneeling in front of her to buckle the straps around her ankles. He looked up then, meeting her eyes. Drawing off one of the gloves, he touched her cheek very lightly, steeling himself not to jump at the influx from the contact. "I'm your _djenko_, isn't that so? Would I encourage you to do anything I knew would harm you?"

"_Njede_, Artemus. But… what if you only think it is safe, and it is not?"

"It's safe," he replied. And as he got to his feet, he gave her a brief kiss on the top of her head, then turned to Smiler. "Now what?"

"The helmets."

Jim helped with this, each man settling a heavily wired circlet onto one of the girls' heads. They then stepped well back. Anushche looked so very anxious, her large eyes - by Jove, they **were** doe-like! - straying from Artie's face to Jim's and back again.

Smiler donned his thick goggles and heavy gloves now and took his place at the control panel. "Clear!" he cried. "That is to say," he added, "no one touch them while the machine is running."

"Yes, Professor Smiler," said Jim. "I think we understood that."

"Ah. Well, then…" And he threw the switch.

The hum of electricity was low at first, but rose steadily in volume as well as pitch until it was ear-splitting in both attributes. Everyone was wincing, and those who were able to covered their ears with their hands. The two agents watched over the girls carefully, observing the look of anguish on Anushche's face. A pang of worry constricted Artie's gut; he had been sure this was safe when he strapped the _droshinje_ in, but now he wasn't so sure. As for Irenje…

Suddenly through the whine of the machinery came another sound as the elder twin came to and realized where she was. Her shriek of "No!" was one of pure anguish. At her side, Anushche struggled to loosen her hand in the restraint enough to be able to reach her sister's hand and hold it, but the straps were too tight for that. Instead, she called out, "Irenje! I am right here!"

"Oh, who cares if you are, you infant! They are taking it away! My power, my exquisite power!" And Irenje wept.

Slowly the noise of the machinery dwindled and at last Smiler disengaged the switch. Now the sound died away entirely. "May we?" asked Artie.

"Oh, yes, yes, by all means. That is, ah, wait." The scientist pointed at a group of small cages against one wall. "Bring over one of those."

Artie complied. In the cage was a large white rabbit - somewhat too large, Artie thought frowningly, to be living in such a cramped cage.

Smiler took the cage from him, extracted the rabbit, then tossed it into Irenje's lap. She shrieked in a fury. "Take that thing away!"

"She's not actually touching it, you know," said West to the professor. The agent walked over, took up the rabbit, and held it against Irenje's face.

Nothing happened.

Now Artie came to Anushche's side of the machine and gently laid his hand on hers. He smiled at her and winked. "You see, _droshche_, this is what normally happens when a man takes a woman's hand."

Excitedly, she asked, "Then you feel nothing?"

"Ah, well, I didn't exactly say that!" he teased. Kneeling, he undid all her buckles. As soon as her hands were free, she reached up and shoved that helmet off her head. Shortly her feet were free as well and Artie stood up, taking her hand to help her up as well…

"Oof!"

For Anushche in her joy had launched herself into Artie's arms and was now giving him a very big kiss, and not on the cheek either. And for a second - no, only a split-second - Artie found himself kissing her back. Then he caught himself at it, gently withdrew from the kiss, and said, "Anushche, _droshinje_. Don't you remember? It's better if you don't do that."

"Oh but…" She looked up into his eyes, plainly confused. "I, I thought that it was because of the power and how it would make you inebriated. But the power is gone now. So why is it wrong?"

He shook his head gently, smiling genially. "Sweet child, you have to understand something. A woman's kiss, power or no power, can be intensely inebriating all on its own." And he kissed the top of her head avuncularly again and said, "Why don't you go help your sister while James and I start rounding up our… Ah… Jim? Where did Smiler go?"

Smiler! The scientist had been standing by the control panel. Where had he…?

There was a rending sound and Smiler popped up from beneath the control panel, a fistful of wires in his hand.

"Professor! What are you doing?"

"What do you think I am doing? I am destroying this malignant machine. I never want to see it or hear of it again, and I certainly never want anyone to use it again!"

"Sounds like a good plan to me, Professor," said Artie, adding,

"_But this rough magic  
I here abjure … I'll break my staff,  
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,  
And deeper than did ever plummet sound  
I'll drown my book…" _

And with the aid of a few nice big heavy tools, Smiler and the agents had the machine converted into kindling in short order.

"Excellent!" said Artie. "Or, to quote someone of our acquaintance, 'Capital!' And now we should…"

This time it was Jim who snapped his fingers. "Herk!"

"Herk? You know, that's right, I don't think I've seen him all day. What became of him, James?"

"Well, either we're a bit too late in asking Anushche to see about him, or else he should be recovering right about…"

There came a roar like an angry bull, followed immediately by the crash of yet another window being reduced to shards.

"…now," said Jim and picked up the prong gun once more. "I'll be right back."

"Oh, that's fine, Jim. You take your time. No hurry. No hurry at all."

.

_[It's not over yet! Tag to follow.]_


	6. Tag

_To answer a question someone asked, the two selections Artie quoted in Act 4 are from Song of Solomon chapter 8, and from Shakespeare's The Tempest._

**Tag ~~~~**

Forgathered on the Wanderer the following day was a smaller but still somber group. The Smilers and their henchmen had all four been arrested and jailed to await trial - and in the case of Herk, that had been no small task! - and now the rest were here on the train: Anushche and the tutor sitting side by side on one sofa, Jim and Irenje on the other (she sporting a pair of distinctly unfashionable "bracelets"), while Artie was standing with an elbow propped on the mantelpiece.

Technically, Irenje being the daughter of the Pterovnian Ambassador, the American agents had no authority to arrest her, and so Dr Rodin by virtue of being an employee of the Ambassador had been deputized to represent the Pterovnian government and place Irenje under arrest. The group was now awaiting the announced visit of an official delegation from His Majesty King Zerildko, coming to deal with Irenje.

Anushche kept sneaking furtive and troubled looks at her sister. Dr Rodin, for his part, refused to so much as glance at the _Zernkje_; he was plainly still furious at her. As for West and Gordon, it was more a matter of relief that Irenje's murderous career had been cut short, though what might happen once the delegation arrived was far from clear. Would _Zernkje_ Irenje's status grant her diplomatic immunity?

There was a knock at the door. Artie went to get it, opening the door to, "Count Ljudko!"

The Count, his face stony, drew himself up to his full height and announced, "His Excellency _Marnko_ Mijelko Zelnurmofko, the Ambassador of the Kingdom of Pterovnia!" The Count clicked his heels and stepped to the side, making room for the entrance of a distinguished gray-haired man flanked by two uniformed officers.

"_Vachko!_" Anushche jumped from her seat and flew to the Ambassador's arms. A soft and rapid exchange in Pterovnian ensued between the two, then Anushche introduced Mr West and Mr Gordon to her father. The Ambassador shook their hands warmly. "My eternal gratitude, gentlemen, for recovering my daughters. An official royal commendation from His Majesty will be bestowed upon you in a forthcoming ceremony at the Embassy. On a more personal level, from my heart and that of my wife - we have a saying in our country that there is a love that ever lives in one's heart toward those who have done for one a great deed. Such a love shall ever live in our hearts toward you, Mr West, Mr Gordon." His face darkened then. "But now to business. Count?"

The secretary crossed to stand before Irenje, the two officers accompanying him. The Count unfurled a scroll, cleared his throat, then read out from the scroll in a ringing voice in pure Pterovnian. Artie, Dr Rodin and Anushche all started and turned to stare at the Ambassador, who stood with head bowed through the entire recitation.

Irenje for her part growled and spat at the Count. Ignoring her ill will, he finished his proclamation and rolled up the scroll again, nodding to the officers who stepped forward to take charge of Irenje. In the end the pair had to all but pick her up and carry her from the train, followed by the Count.

To the American agents, the Ambassador said, "I do not know how much of that you gentlemen understood…"

Artie spoke up: " 'By royal decree, Irenje Zelnurmofje is to be returned to her homeland of Pterovnia, to there stand trial before His Majesty King Zerildko for her crimes of murder, and to there pay the penalty if found guilty.' "

"I am so sorry, Mr Ambassador," said Mr West.

"As am I," said the Ambassador. "We, ah, shall require testimony from you gentlemen for the trial. I realize it is not convenient for the two of you to travel to Pterovnia to testify in person, therefore I respectfully request of you signed affidavits to be sent along with Irenje for the trial. You, however, _Zernkje_ Anje…" and he now turned to his younger daughter.

Anushche gasped, as did the tutor.

"You, _droshche_, **are** to return to Pterovnia to testify at the trial in person. Your heartbroken mother has indicated that she desires to return home as well."

"_Dasda, Vachko_," said Anushche softly.

Jim leaned toward Artie. "Is what just happened what I think just happened?"

Artie nodded. "Transfer of title. Irenje has been stripped of her position as heir and the title given to Anushche."

"Whose name is actually Anje."

"Yes, we've been calling her by her childhood nickname all this time."

The Ambassador and his daughter had been consulting together in their native tongue, and now the Ambassador said a few words to the tutor, who bowed and hurried out.

"_Zernkje_ Anje informs me, gentlemen, that your baggage car is somewhat overflowing with her and her sister's possessions. I have sent Dr Rodin to supervise the transfer of their luggage to our own private train." He now spoke briefly to Anushche once more, then took his leave of West and Gordon. "Good day, gentlemen."

"Good day, Mr Ambassador."

"_Marnko_ Zelnurmofko."

And now only the three of them remained. Anushche smiled wanly at James and Artemus. "I, I suppose this is good-bye then - and likely forever. James…" She slipped into his arms and hugged him fiercely, then pressed a firm and lingering kiss to his cheek.

"Good-bye, Anushche," said Jim.

She nodded without speaking, tears slipping down her face. "Artemus…"

"_Droshche_," he said as she embraced him tightly. Into his ear she whispered in Pterovnian, "Would it hurt anything if I were to kiss you, ah…?"

"What, on the lips?" he responded.

A nod.

Still speaking in her language, Artie replied, "You give to me the exact same kiss you gave to James."

"_Dasda, djenko_," said she, and obeyed.

Quietly, unobtrusively, Jim pressed his handkerchief into her hand. "_Kedurshte djo_, Djenko," she said and put the cloth to use.

"I suppose," she said at length, "I should go now."

Artie raised a finger. "Not quite yet. Excuse me, please. I'll just be a moment." And he disappeared down the corridor for a few minutes.

Mystified, Anushche turned to Jim. "What is he doing?"

"You'll know when I do."

Now Artie returned, a massive book in his hands. Crossing to the desk, he opened the book to the flyleaf, dipped a pen in ink, and wrote a brief message. "James?" He passed the pen to his partner, who smiled and added his signature. Artie used a rocker ink blotter on the message, then turned the book so Anushche could see what he had written:

For our _katjenje droshche_ Anushche,  
Because I lost your copy after I threw it through the window.  
With affection from your _djenkozí_,  
James West and Artemus Gordon

Anushche grinned and glanced at the front cover. "_Guerre et Paix_," she read. "Tolstoy."

"Tolstoy, yes. My own copy. It's the French translation, obviously. I hope you don't mind."

"It's perfect," she smiled, blowing on the inscription before closing the volume and hugging it to her bosom.

"Something to read on your long journey home," said Jim.

"_Dasda, kedurshte djozí_." She smiled at them both, then tipped her head. "Do you realize," she said, "that I am the richest girl in Pterovnia?"

"How is that?"

"Every other girl has a _djenko_ - just one. But I and I alone have three! Dr Rodin, and you, and you. How capital!" She gave them each another hug, then said her good-byes and was gone.

Artie closed the door after her. "What a sweet kid, huh, Jim?"

"A _droshinje_. Did I get that right?"

"Why yes, yes you did, James. Very good."

Jim started for the corridor. "I'll go see if they've finished transferring the girls' belongings from the baggage car - _droshtafko_."

"Sure, Jim, fine. And then we need to work on those affi… What did you just call me?"

A twinkle in his eye, Jim repeated the word. Then he ducked down the corridor, laughing, as the blotter from the desk came sailing his way.

"Laugh it up, buddy," Artie groused as he went to retrieve the blotter. "You'll get yours; I guarantee you that! Calling me _droshtafko_. I'm not old! And at the moment, not particularly sweet either. Oh-ho-ho, you just watch out, James. I'll… Oh! Yeah, that's what I'll do!" A wicked gleam in his eye, Artemus settled into the desk chair and leaned back, steepling his fingers and grinning as he plotted the ingenious vengeance he would shortly be taking on his best friend James West.

**~~~ FREEZE FRAME ~~~**

**~~~ THE END ~~~**

* * *

_The links for the final freeze frame and for the end credits collage are on my profile page. Thank you for reading The Night of the Kiss of Death._

_My wish list for the cast:_

_Jonathan Harris as Professor Angus Smiler_

_Fritz Feld as Dr Rodin_

_Irene Ryan as Matilda_

_Peter Falk as Lou_

_Ted Cassidy as Herk_


End file.
